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THE    PLAYS 
OF   ^MOLIERE 

TRANSLATED    BY 

KATHARINE  PRESCOTT  WORMELEY 

THE   MISANTHROPE 
LE  BOURGEOIS   GENTILHOMME 

VOLUME   ONE 


BOSTON 
LITTLE,    BROWN,    AND     COMPANY 

1909 


Copyright,  1894., 
By  Roberts  Brothers 


All  Rights  Reserved. 


CONTENTS 

Page 

Translator's  Note 7 

Introduction  : 

Preface  to  the  Works  of  Moli^re,  by  H.  de 

Balzac 9 

Criticism  on  Molifere,  by  C.  A.  Sainte-Beuve  27 

The  Misanthrope 45 

Le  Bourgeois  Gentilhomme 159 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 

PAGE 

MoLiERE,  AFTER  THE  PAINTING  BY  MiGNARD         Frontispiece 

''  The  world  visits  his  dinners,  and  not  him  " 

Vignette  on  Title 
Le  Misanthrope,  Act  II.,  Sc.  v. 

"  Messieurs,  this  is  going  too  far.    Let  the  matter 

drop,    I   BEG   OF   YOU  " 71 

Le  Misanthrope,   Act  I.,   Sc.  ii. 

"  Then  do  you  hold  me  guilty  because  men  love 

ME?" 73 

Le  Misanthrope,   Act  II.,   Sc.  i. 

"  A  little  farther  back,  MADAME  "     .         .         .         .      272 

Le  Bourgeois  Gentilhomme,  Act  III.,  Sc.  xix. 


\ 


TRANSLATOR'S    NOTE 


Surely  the  translation  of  a  great  writer 
can  have  but  one  purpose:  to  present  him  la 
such  a  manner  that  his  reader  in  a  language 
not  his  own  shall  obtain  a  correct  general  idea 
of  his  work.  A  student  of  Moliere  will  go  to 
the  original. 

The  preface  here  given  is  the  one  which 
Balzac  wrote  for  the  edition  of  Moliere  brought 
out  by  him  during  his  youthful  enterprise  as 
a  publisher.  The  criticism  which  follows  is  by 
Sainte-Beuve ;  and  the  comments  on  the  plays 
in  this  and  succeeding  volumes  are  gathered 
from  various  authors  (Voltaire,  Victor  Cousin, 
Sainte-Beuve,  Emile  Faguet,  Charles  Louandre, 
etc.),  and  are  here  put  together  as  may  best 
answer  the  purpose  of  briefly  presenting  Moliere 
and  his  work  to  the  English  reader. 

K.  P.  W. 


INTRODUCTION 


PREFACE   TO   THE  WORKS   OF 
MOLIERE 

By  H.  DE   BALZAC 

Louis   XIV.  said  one  day  to  Boileau :  — 

"  Who  is  the  first  among  the  great  men  who 
have  adorned  my  reign  ?  " 

"  Moliere,  Sire,"  was  the  reply. 

Two  centuries  have  confirmed  the  justice  of 
that  answer,  which  the  ages  still  to  come  will 
ratify. 

If  it  were  possible  to  reform  men  by  making 
them  blush  for  their  follies,  their  defects,  their 
vices,  what  a  perfect  society  this  splendid  legis- 
lator would  have  founded!  He  would  have 
banished  from  the  bosom  of  his  nation  false- 
hood, cant,  deception,  jealousy,  —  sometimes  in- 
sane, oftener  cruel,  —  the  senile  love  of  old  men, 
hatred  of  humanity,  coquetry,  back-biting,  self- 


IQ  INTRODUCTION 

conceit;  disproportioned  marriages,  base  avarice, 
chicanery,  corruption;  the  heedless  frivolity  of 
magistrates,  the  pettiness  which  makes  men 
aspire  to  be  greater  than  they  are,  the  arro- 
gant empiricism  of  doctors,  and  the  laughable 
impostures  of  false  piety.  Such  is  a  brief 
summary  of  the  follies  and  vices  which  Moliere 
attacked  without  ever  ceasing  to  be  humorous, 
natural,   and  varied. 

The  history  of  the  life,  all  too  short,  of  this 
celebrated  man^  does  not  need,  in  order  to 
make  it  interesting,  the  frivolous  details  and 
gossiping  stories  which  have  hitherto  dis- 
figured it.  We  shall  here  relate,  as  to  his 
personal  life,  only  such  facts  as  have  been 
shown,  up  to  the  present  time,  to  be  true.  As 
for  his  immortal  works,  we  here  reprint  them; 
civilized  nations  have  judged  them,  and  we 
refrain  from  all  comment  on  their  value. 

1  It  is  painfully  interesting  to  know  that  Moliere  and 
Balzac,  the  fathers  of  the  "  Comedy  of  Human  Life " 
and  of  Realism,  died  at  the  same  age  :  Moliere  at  fifty- 
one  years  and  one  month ;  Balzac  at  fifty-one  years  and 
three  months.  There  were  strange  likenesses  in  their 
lives.  The  fame  of  both  was  of  little  more  than  fif- 
teen years'  duration  in  their  lifetime ;  both  died  of  the 
toil  to  which  their  genius  impelled  them;  and  both 
are  going  down  with  ever  brightening  lustre  to  pos- 
terity.—Tb. 


INTRODUCTION  H 

Jean-Baptiste  Poquelin  was  born  in  Paris, 
in  a  house  at  the  corner  of  the  rue  Saint-Honore 
and  the  rue  des  Vieilles-Etuves,  in  January, 
1622.  His  father,  valet  de  chmnhre  and  up- 
holsterer to  the  king,  also  a  dealer  in  old 
furniture,  and  his  mother,  Marie  Cresse,  ap- 
pear to  have  somewhat  neglected  his  education. 
His  mother  died  when  he  was  ten  years  old, 
and  at  fourteen  he  knew  little,  outside  of  his 
father's  trade,  except  reading  and  writing.  At 
that  age,  however,  his  taste  for  study  began 
to  develop,  and  he  asked  to  be  sent  to  school. 
It  was  not  without  difficulty  that  his  grand- 
father [probably  his  mother's  father,  Louis  de 
Cresse]  obtained  permission  for  him  to  enter 
the  college  of  Clermont,  afterwards  called  Louis- 
le-Grand.  There,  he  soon  made  up  by  appli- 
cation for  the  time  he  had  lost.  Among  his 
schoolmates  and  friends  were  lads  who  in  after 
years  acquired  celebrity:  Chapelle,  Bernier, 
Cyrano  de  Bergerac;  also  Armand  de  Bourbon, 
Prince  de  Conti,  brother  of  the  great  Conde, 
whose  subsequent  faithful  protection  did  honor 
to  both  of  them. 

Poquelin,  whose  genius  was  discerned  by  Gas- 
sendi  (the  adversary  of  Descartes),  became  the 
pupil  of  that  celebrated  professor,  who  brought 


12  INTRODUCTION 

him  rapidly  through  all  the  branches  of  human 
knowledge.  On  leaving  school  he  received  from 
that  philosopher  the  principles  of  pure  and  gen- 
tle ethics,  from  which  he  seldom  deviated  in  the 
course  of  his  life ;  after  which  he  studied  law  at 
Orleans  and  was  admitted  to  the  bar,  though  it 
does  not  appear  that  he  ever  practised. 

About  this  time  the  theatre  was  beginning 
to  flourish.  In  the  year  1630,  Pierre  Corneille 
first  rescued  it  from  barbarism  and  debasement. 
The  passion  of  Cardinal  Richelieu  for  the  stage 
made  a  taste  for  comedy  the  fashion,  and  a 
goodly  number  of  private  societies  gave  dra- 
matic representations. 

Poquelin  was  admitted  into  an  association  of 
young  men  of  good  family  who  were  enthusi- 
asts for  the  stage,  and  who  all  had  some  talent 
for  declamation.  Before  long  this  society  eclipsed 
others,  and  the  public  gave  it  the  somewhat 
emphatic  name  of  "  The  Illustrious  Theatre. " 
It  was  then  that  Poquelin,  full  of  a  genius  that 
spurred  him  on,  gave  himself  up  to  his  future 
vocation,  and  resolved  to  become  both  comedian 
and  dramatic  writer.  After  the  fashion  of  the 
authors  and  actors  of  the  time,  he  changed  his 
name  and  now  took  that  of  Moliere. 

The  civil  wars  which   devastated   France  at 


INTRODUCTION      ,  13 

this  period  and  occupied  all  minds  kept  Moli^re 
long  ignored ;  but  he  profited  by  this  obscurity 
to  cultivate  his  talent,  and  to  prepare  himself, 
by  many  abortive  efforts,  for  the  sublime  works 
which  were  later  to  amaze  the  world.  We 
cannot  pass  over  in  silence  the  names  of  certain 
farces  which  he  composed  and  acted  during  a 
period  of  nearly  twelve  years,  during  which  he 
travelled  over  France  with  a  company  of  his 
own.  "  Le  Docteur  Amoureux, "  "  Le  Maitre 
d':6cole,"  "Le  Medecin  Volant,"  "  Les  Doc- 
teurs  Kivaux, "  and  "  La  Jalousie  du  Barbouille  " 
were  the  first  plays  (all  in  the  Italian  style)  by 
which  he  became  known.  These  fugitive  works, 
written  in  prose  are  lost ;  some,  it  is  true, .  have 
lately  been  reprinted,  but  their  authenticity  is 
not,  as  yet,  sufficiently  proved.  Tradition  says, 
however,  that  traces  of  "  Le  Docteur  Amoureux  " 
and  "  La  Jalousie  du  Barbouille  "  may  be  found 
in  "  George  Dandin  "  and  "  Le  Medecin  malgre 
lui." 

The  comedy  of  "  L'Etourdi  "  was  the  first  great 
piece  in  five  acts  which  Moliere  produced.  It 
was  played  at  Lyon  in  1653.  This  was  the 
first  step  in  his  dramatic  career  which  openly 
proclaimed  him  a  man  of  genius.  The  lively 
wit,   the  whimsical   comicality,  and  the   dash- 


14  INTEODUCTION 

ing  vigor  with  which  he  wrote  the  part  of 
Mascarille  made  the  public  regard  the  play 
as  a  masterpiece,  and  drew  such  favor  upon 
him  that  a  rival  company,  then  acting  at  Lyon, 
was  entirely  deserted  and  forced  to  disband. 

Summoned  in  1654  by  his  former  school- 
mate, the  Prince  de  Conti,  to  Montpellier, 
where  the  latter  was  presiding  over  the  Etats 
of  Languedoc,  he  took  with  him  a  fairly  com- 
plete company,  consisting  of  the  two  brothers 
Gros-E.en^  (otherwise  named  du  Pare,  gentle- 
men of  family)  and  the  wife  of  one  of  them; 
Edme  Wilquin  (otherwise  de  Brie) ;  du  Croisy 
a  man  of  rank  in  la  Beauce  (who  afterwards 
played  Tartuffe  with  great  success);  Lagrange, 
a  gentleman  of  Amiens;  and  the  two  comic 
actresses  Madeleine  Bejart,  and  Catherine  de 
Brie,  wife  of  Edme  Wilquin.  Moliere  was  at 
once  put  in  charge  of  all  theatrical  perform- 
ances, and  salaries  were  paid  to  his  company. 
He  played  before  the  prince  at  Montpellier, 
"  L'Etourdi, "  "  Le  Depit  Amoureux, "  and  "  Les 
Pr^cieuses  Ridicules."  The  keen  and  lively 
satire  of  the  last-named  play  was  received  with 
enthusiasm.  At  the  second  representation  an 
old  man  in  the  audience  cried  out:  — 

"  Courage,  Moliere !  that  is  true  comedy. " 


INTRODUCTION  16 

Time  has  not  unsaid  the  verdict. 

Moliere  was  then  thirty-two  years  old.  It 
is  said  that  in  the  effusion  of  the  Prince  de 
Conti's  regard  for  his  old  schoolmate  he  wished 
to  make  him  his  secretary.  Happily  for  the 
future  of  dramatic  art,  Moliere  had  the  courage 
to  prefer  his  independence  to  that  honorable  post. 

He  continued  for  some  time  longer  to  travel 
over  France;  and  it  was  not  until  he  had 
played  at  Grenoble,  Bordeaux,  Lyon,  and  Eouen 
that  he  finally  came  to  Paris,  in  1658.  He  was 
then  thirty-six  years  old.  The  Prince  de 
Conti  took  him  to  Monsieur,  only  brother 
of  Louis  XIV.  Monsieur  presented  him  to 
the  king  and  the  queen-mother,  from  whom 
he  and  his  company  obtained  permission  to 
play  Comeille's  tragedy  of  "  Nicodeme  "  before 
their  Majesties  in  the  guard-room  of  the  old 
Louvre.  After  the  tragedy  Moliere  asked  per- 
mission to  play  his  farce  of  "  Le  Docteur 
Amoureux, "  which  was  granted.  The  king 
was  satisfied  with  the  performance,  and  gave 
permission  that  the  company  should  be  known 
as  the  "  Troupe  de  Monsieur,  "  and  play  in 
the  theatre  of  the  little  Palais  Bourbon,  alter- 
nately with  certain  Italian  comedians  who  were 
already  established  there. 


16  INTEODUCTION 

Two  years  later,  in  1660,  Monsieur,  who 
declared  himself  the  special  protector  of  Moli^re, 
gave  him  the  theatre  of  the  Palais-Royal,  in 
which  he  and  his  company  continued  to  play 
until  his  death.  ^  In  1665  the  name  of  the 
company  was  changed  to  that  of  the  Troupe 
DU  Roi.  After  Moliere's  death  it  was  amal- 
gamated with  the  Troupe  du  Marais  and  with 
that  of  the  Hotel  de  Bourgogne,  and  thence- 
forth took  the  name  of  the  Theatre-FranQais. 

From  1658  to  1673,  namely  in  the  last  fifteen 
years  of  his  life,  Moliere  produced  his  finest 
comedies.  Those  with  which  he  preluded,  as 
it  were,  to  his  great  work  "  Tartuffe  "  were  as 
follows :  "  Sganarelle, "  full  of  gayety ;  "  Les 
Facheux, "  the  first  attempt  ever  made  at  episodi- 
cal comedy ;  "  L'Ecole  des  Maris ;  "  "  L':Ecole 
des  Femmes, "  an  imitation  of  the  "  Adelphics  " 
of  Terence,  hut  with  a  far  more  ingenious  end- 
ing ;  "  Le  Mariage  Force, "  in  which  the  subtle- 
ties of  scholastic  philosophy  are  admirably  turned 

*  In  speaking  of  this  theatre  Voltaire  says :  "  It  was 
as  ill-constructed  as  the  play  for  which  it  was  built,  — 
the  tragedy  of  "  Mirame,"  in  which  Cardinal  Richelieu 
had  himself  written  over  500  verses.  I  may  remark  here 
that  we  have  in  Paris  up  to  the  present  time  not  a  single 
tolerable  theatre.  This  is  a  Gothic  barbarism  for  which 
the  Italians  very  justly  reproach  us.  The  good  plajs 
are  in  France,  the  fine  theatres  in  Italy."  —  Tb. 


INTRODUCTION  17 

into  ridicule ;  "  La  Princesse  d'Elide, "  and  "  Les 
Amants  Magnifiques, "  in  both  of  which  Moli^re 
laughs  at  himself  for  sacrificing  too  much  to 
the  taste  of  the  period ;  and  "  Don  Juan,  or  Le 
Festin  de  pierre,"  written  with  rare  fire  and 
originality. 

"  L 'Amour  M^decin  "  preceded  "  Le  Misan- 
thrope," —  that  vigorous  character,  admirably- 
drawn,  in  which  Thalia  speaks  a  language  so 
noble  and  so  eloquent.  "  Le  Misanthrope  " 
was  followed  by  "Le  Mddecin  malgre  lui," 
a  charming  jest  upon  the  Faculty ;  "  Melicerte, " 
a  graceful  pastoral;  "  Le  Sicilien,"  the  first 
attempt  at  comic  opera,  proving  the  flexibility 
of  Moli^re's  talent ;  and  "  L'Amphitryon, "  a  mar- 
vellous creation,  though  imitated  from  Plautus. 
It  was  also  from  Plautus  that  Moliere  took 
the  subject  of  "  L'Avare ;  "  which  he  deepened 
immeasurably  by  making  Harpagon  in  love; 
thus  bringing  the  character  of  the  miser  into 
the  strongest  possible  light. 

Next  followed  in  quick  succession,  with  their 
own  distinguished  merits,  "  George  Dandin, " 
"  Pourceaugnac, "  "  Le  Bourgeois  Gentilhomme, " 
and  "  Les  Fourberies  de  Scapin. "  After  these 
came  "  Les  Femmes  Savantes, "  in  which 
pedantry  personified  is  presented  with  infinite 


18  INTRODUCTION 

wit  to  the  laughter  of  the  world;  "  La  Comtesse 
d'Escarhagnas, "  a  lively  picture  of  the  ab- 
surdities of  provincials  in  Paris ;  and  "  Psyche, " 
written  in  collaboration  with  Corneille,  and 
played  in  the  hall  of  the  Tuileries  built  by 
Louis  XIV. 

Finally,  came  Moliere's  last  work,  "  Le 
Malade  Imaginaire, "  in  which,  painting  with 
terrible  truth  the  actions  of  a  woman,  a  grasp- 
ing wife  and  a  harsh  stepmother,  who  is  count- 
ing the  last  hours  of  a  besotted  old  man,  the 
great  writer  proved  that  death  struck  him 
while  his  genius  was  still  in  its  vigor,  and 
fully  prepared  to  produce  fresh  masterpieces. 

Such  are  the  works  which  have  placed  Moliere 
at  so  high  an  elevation  that  the  pges  will  roll 
away  and  leave  his  fame  untouched.  He  holds 
the  sceptre  among  comic  writers  of  all  time  and 
all  countries.  He  is  more  natural  and  quite  as 
gay  as  Aristophanes,  as  decent  as  Terence  and 
more  useful  in  the  comedy  of  manners,  and 
far  more  happy  than  Plautus  in  bis  comic 
situations. 

As  we  all  like  to  enter  the  inner  being  of 
these  privileged  geniuses  to  whom  posterity 
pays  homage,  let  us  follow  Moliere  for  a 
moment  into  his  private   life,   where  we    shall 


INTRODUCTION  19 

find  him  a  simple,  kindly  man,  ever  ready  to 
stretch  a  helping  hand  to  misfortune,  and  to 
open  the  way  to  younger  talent.  We  know 
that  Racine,  still  very  young,  presented  him- 
self, tragedy  in  hand,  to  the  author  of  "  Le 
Misanthrope."  The  play  was  not  suitable  for 
the  stage,  but  Moliere  perceived  the  tendency 
of  the  dawning  genius  and  gave  him  the 
subject  of  "  La  Thebai'de,"  in  which  he  him- 
self, it  is  said,  distributed  the  acts  and  divided 
the  scenes.  It  is  perhaps  to  this  cordial  recep- 
tion, this  honorable  encouragement  by  Moliere, 
that  France  owes  Eacine. 

A  known  enemy  to  all  cant  and  duplicity, 
Moliere  was  felt  by  tlie  world  in  which  he  lived 
to  be  a  sound  and  trustworthy  man.  The 
uprightness  of  his  heart,  the  frankness  of  his 
nature,  made  him  friends  among  the  most 
admirable  and  distinguished  persons  in  France. 
His  home  was  a  rendezvous  for  every  species 
of  merit.  Possessed  of  considerable  fortune, 
he  used  it  wisely  and  well.  His  house  in 
the  rue  de  Richelieu  was  handsomely  appointed, 
and  the  most  celebrated  men  of  the  period  took 
pleasure  in   frequenting    it. 

With  so  many  elements  of  happiness  about 
him  his  face,  open,  eager,  and  joyous  in  early 


20  INTRODUCTION 

life,  bore  in  his  later  years  the  imprint  of  deep 
melancholy;  and  while  he  shed  about  him  on 
the  stage  an  atmosphere  of  open-hearted  gay- 
ety,  he  was  inwardly  a  prey  to  sadness.  What, 
then,  is  happiness,  if  success,  honor,  friends, 
protectors,  the  respect  of  the  world  and  wealth 
cannot  bestow  it?  Alas  !  Moliere  was  a  sus- 
picious husband.  He  paid  that  debt  to  human 
weakness;  he  who  pursued  with  such  keen 
satire  the  pangs  of  conjugal  jealousy  was  him- 
self a  victim  to  them.  He  married,  when  more 
than  forty  years  old,  a  very  young  girl,  the 
daughter  of  the  same  Madeleine  Bejart  with 
whom  he  had  joined  fortunes  during  his  pro- 
fessional travels  through  France.  This  young 
girl,  whose  father  was  supposed  to  be  the 
Baron  de  Modene,  showed  levity  of  conduct; 
and  before  long  the  disparity  of  age  and  the 
dangers  to  which  a  young  and  fascinating 
actress  was  exposed  threw  MoUere  into  a 
painful  and  perpetual  state  of  apprehension. 
Suspicion  poisoned  his  life;  domestic  quarrels 
rent  his  heart;  and  he  lacked  the  required 
philosophy  to  bear  the  consequences  of  his 
own  folly  in  contracting  such  a  marriage.  It 
is  related  that  as  he  walked  one  day  up  and 
down  the  garden  of  his  country -place  at  Auteuil 


INTEODUCTION  21 

with  his  life-long  friend,  the  poet  Chapelle,  who 
expressed  astonishment  that  he  still  loved  so 
heartless  a  woman,   Moliere  said :  — 

"  You  speak  of  the  perfect  knowledge  which 
you  say  I  have  of  the  hearts  of  men,  and  I 
admit  that  I  have  studied  myself  as  much  as 
possible  in  order  to  know  their  weaknesses.  If 
philosophy  tells  me  they  could  escape  their 
misery  if  they  would,  experience  proves  to  me 
only  too  plainly  that  it  is  impossible  to  do  so. 
I  judge  daily  by  myself.  I  was  born  with  the 
utmost  disposition  to  tenderness;  and  as  I 
thought  my  efforts  might  inspire  her,  after  a 
while,  with  feelings  that  time  could  not  destroy, 
I  neglected  nothing  that  might  serve  to  this 
end.  .  .  .  But  all  my  kindness  has  been 
fruitless;  it  has  not  changed  her.  I  have 
therefore  resolved  to  live  with  her  as  though 
she  were  not  my  wife,  —  like  an  honest  man, 
who  is  convinced,  no  matter  what  the  world 
may  say,  that  his  reputation  does  not  depend 
upon  the  conduct  of  his  wife.  But  if  you 
knew  what  I  suffer  you  would  pity  me.  My 
passion  has  reached  such  a  point  that  I  even 
find  myself  entering  with  compassion  into  her 
feelings.  When  I  consider  how  impossible  it 
is  for  me  to  conquer  what  I  feel  for  her,  I  say 


22  INTRODUCTION 

to  myself  that  perhaps  she  has  as  much  dif- 
ficulty to  overcome  her  passion  for  coquetry, 
and  then  I  find  it  in  my  heart  to  pity  rather 
than  hlame  her.  You  will  tell  me,  of  course, 
that  I  am  mad  to  love  in  this  way;  but,  for 
myself,  I  think  there  is  but  one  kind  of  love, 
and  those  who  have  not  felt  its  delicacy  have 
never  truly  loved.  All  things  in  this  world 
are  connected  in  my  heart  with  her;  my  ideas 
are  so  occupied  by  her  that  when  she  is  absent 
I  cannot  detach  my  thoughts  from  her.  When 
I  see  her  an  emotion,  a  transport  of  emotion, 
such  as  may  be  felt  but  cannot  be  described, 
takes  all  power  of  reflection  from  me;  I  have 
no  eyes  for  her  faults;  I  see  only  that  which 
is  good  and  amiable  in  her.  Is  not  this  the 
last  degree  of  folly?  and  do  you  not  admire 
the  fact  that  what  I  ha^e  of  common-sense 
serves  only  to  make  me  know  my  weakness, 
but  not  to  conquer  it  1  " 

A  strong  constitution  could  alone  bear  up 
under  these  cruel  trials,  and  we  may  gather 
that  his  was  vigorous  from  the  following  descrip- 
tion of  his  person,  written  by  a  contemporary, 
the  wife  of  Poisson  (one  of  the  best  comedians 
who  ever  appeared  upon  the  stage) ,  who  was  her- 
self an  actress. 


INTRODUCTION  23 

"  Moliere  was  neither  too  stout  nor  too  thin ; 
he  was  tall  rather  than  short;  his  bearing  was 
noble,  his  leg  handsome.  He  walked  gravely, 
with  a  serious  air.  His  nose  was  large,  the 
mouth  also,  the  lips  full;  his  complexion  was 
dark ;  the  eyebrows  black  and  strongly  marked, 
and  the  various  movements  he  gave  to  them 
often  made  his  face  extremely  comical.  As 
for  his  character,  it  Avas  gentle,  kind,  and 
generous;  his  actors  loved  him;  he  was  fond 
of  speechifying;  and  when  he  read  his  plays 
to  the  comedians  he  wanted  them  to  bring 
their  children  that  he  might  conjecture  the 
effect  from  their  natural  actions." 

In  February,  1673,  his  company  began  to  give 
"  Le  Malade  Imaginaire"  in  which  he  played 
the  principal  part.  Without  considering  the 
state  of  his  lungs,  which  had  been  affected  for 
some  time  past,  Moliere  insisted  on  satisfying 
the  public  who  flocked  to  see  the  comedy. 
At  the  fourth  representation,  just  as  he  had 
uttered  the  word  "  Juro"  in  the  scene  of  the 
ceremony,  he  was  seized  with  a  species  of  con- 
vulsion. They  carried  him  to  his  home  in  the 
rue  de  Richelieu.  Conscious  that  he  was 
dying,  he  sent  twice  to  his  parish-church  for 
the  sacraments;   but   the  priests  refused  to  go 


24  INTRODUCTION 

to  him.  A  third  priest  was  sent  for,  but 
before  he  came  Moliere  had  broken  a  blood- 
vessel and  was  dead.  He  died  on  the  17th 
of  February,  1673,  in  the  arms  of  two  sisters  of 
charity,  to  whom  he  was  giving  a  home  while 
they  begged  for  the  poor  during  Lent.^  He  was 
fifty-one  years  and  one  month  old.  He  left  a 
daughter,  Esprit-Marie-Madeleine,  who  married 
Monsieur  de  Montalant  and  died  without  issue. 
The  archbishop  of  Paris,  Monseigneur  Harlay 
de  Champvallon,  noted  in  those  days  for  his  de- 
baucheries, refused  Christian  burial  to  Moliere's 
remains.  An  order  from  Louis  XIV.  [who, 
throughout  Moliere's  life  in  Paris  was  his  firm 
and  comprehending  friend]  was  required  to 
obtain  a  corner  of  consecrated  ground  in  which 
to  lay  the  body  of  this  great  man.  The  arch- 
bishop, compelled  to  bow  to  the  royal  will, 
authorized  his  interment  in  the  cemetery  of 
Saint- Joseph,^  on  condition  that  the  burial  be 
after  dark,  and  that  no  funeral  services  should 
be  said  there,  or  in  any  church  whatever,   over 

1  Moliere  had  received  the  sacraments  at  the  preced- 
ing Easter  and  was  therefore  in  communion  with  the 
Church.  See  the  widow's  petition  to  the  Archhishop  of 
Paris.     (Louandre.) 

2  A  cemetery  used  to  bury  the  bodies  of  suicides,  and 
children  dying  without  baptism.    (Id.) 


INTRODUCTION  25 

the  remains.  Two  priests  went  to  fetch,  the 
body;  and  two  hundred  of  Moliere's  friends, 
bearing  torches,  accompanied  the  coffin.  The 
populace  crowded  about  the  house  and  alarmed 
the  widow,  who  flung  money  from  the  windows 
in  order  to  pacify  them.  It  was  then  that 
she  said,  in  the  bitterness  of  her  heart,  exalted 
for  a  moment  by  the  sense  of  her  great  loss : 

"What!  do  they  refuse  Christian  burial  to  a 
man  who,  in  Greece,  would  have  had  altars 
raised  to  him  1  " 

This  monstrous  injustice  induced  the  great 
Jesuit  critic  and  grammarian,  Pere  Bouhours, 
to  write  the  following  epitaph :  — 

Thou  reformedst  town  and  court, 

And  what  is  thy  reward  f 

Frenchmen  will  some  day  blush 

For  their  want  of  gratitude. 

They  needed  a  comedian 

Whose  genius  should  reform  them ; 

But  thou,  Moliere,  to  thy  fame 

Nought  is  lacking  —  only  this, 

That  among  thy  teachings  thou  didst  not 

Reprove  a  nation  for  ingratitude. 

The  French  Academy  desired  to  count  Moliere 
among  its  members.  In  vain  was  he  urged  to 
give  up  his  profession;  all  was  useless;  and 
the  Academy  was  unable  to  adorn  its  register 


26  rNTRODUCTION 

with  that  glorious  name.  Nevertheless,  it  took 
pleasure  in  rendering  to  his  memory  after  his 
death,  the  honors  he  deserved  when  living. 
This  fine  inscription,  "  Nothing  is  lacking 
TO  HIS  glory;  he  is  lacking  to  ours," 
was  placed  heneath  the  bust  which  preserves 
his  memory  within  the  precincts  of  the  Society. 

Moliere  had  met  the  artist  Mignard  at  Avignon 
on  his  return  from  Italy.  With  him  he  con- 
tracted the  closest  friendship.  Their  union  was 
so  warm  and  lasting  that  they  seem  to  have  di- 
vined each  other's  future  fame,  and  to  have  fore- 
seen that  each  should  contribute  to  it.  Meeting 
again  in  Paris,  they  renewed  this  sincere  attach- 
ment. Mignard  left  to  posterity  a  portrait  of  his 
friend,  and  Moliere,  in  his  poem  on  the  dome  of 
the  "  Val-de-Grace, "  returned,  as  Ariosto  did  to 
Titian,  the  immortality  he  had  received. 

Two  authentic  portraits  of  Moliere  exist: 
this  by  Mignard,  of  his  later  life,  which  has 
been  repeatedly  reproduced,  and  is  the  type  of 
all  the  portraits  of  him  given  to  the  world ;  and 
one  by  Coypel,  painted  in  the  glow  of  Moliere's 
youth,  when  he  was  thirty.  The  latter  renders, 
in  a  wonderful  manner,  the  key-note  of  his 
countenance,  his  depth  and  fervor  of  con- 
templation,  and   the   fire    of   his    eye.      Both 


rNTRODUCTION-  27 

portraits  give  the  same  characteristic  features, 
the  same  expression,  the  same  man,  with  the 
differences   only  of  age  and  experience. 


CRITICISM  ON  moli£:re 

By  C.  a.  SAINTE-BEUVE  1 

There  is  in  poesy,  in  literature,  a  class  of 
men,  exceptional  among  the  highest,  few  in  num- 
ber, not  perhaps  more  than  five  or  six  from  the 
beginning,  whose  essential  character  is  Univer- 
sality, Humanity  eternal,  which  enters  intimately 
into  their  painting  of  the  manners  and  customs 
and  passions  of  an  epoch.  Facile  geniuses,  strong 
and  fruitful,  their  principal  trait  lies  in  a  mix- 
ture of  fertility,  solidity,  and  frankness.  Here 
is  knowledge  and  firmness  of  foundation,  true 
indifference  in  the  employment  of  means  and 
conventional  methods — all  framework,  all  points 
of  departure  serving  them  equally  well  to 
develop  their  subject.  Here,  too,  is  active  pro- 
duction, incessant  amid  all  obstacles,  and  the 
plentitude  of   art,    frequently  attained  without 

1  Portraits  Litteraires,  vol.  ii.,  Gamier  Freres,  Paris, 
1862 ;  Nouveaux  Lundis,  pp.  257-280,  Hachette  et  C", 
Paris,  1872. 


28  INTKODUCTION 

slow  effort  or  artifice.  In  the  Greek  past, 
after  the  grand  figure  of  Homer,  who  began 
so  gloriously  this  small  race  and  is  the  primor- 
dial genius  of  the  noblest  portion  of  humanity, 
we  are  embarrassed  to  know  whom  next  to  take. 
Sophocles,  fruitful  as  he  seems  to  have  been, 
human  as  he  showed  himself  in  the  harmoni-' 
ous  expression  of  feelings  and  sorrows,  Sopho- 
cles  is  so  perfect  in  outline,  so  sacred  in  form 
and  attitude,  that  he  cannot  be  displaced  in 
thought  from  his  purely  Greek  pedestal.  The 
famous  comic  authors  are  lost  to  us;  we  have 
but  the  name  of  Menander,  who  was,  perhaps, 
the  most  perfect  of  the  race  of  genius  of  which 
we  speak;  for  the  marvellous  fancy,  so  Athe- 
nian, so  enchanting,  of  Aristophanes  lessens  his 
universality.  Among  the  Romans  I  see  only 
Plautus,  —  Plautus,  so  ill-appreciated  even  now, 
—  a  profound  and  many-sided  delineator,  direc- 
tor of  a  troop  of  actors,  actor  and  author 
himself,  like  Shakespeare  and  like  Moliere, 
whose  legitimate  ancestor  he  was.  But  Latin 
literature  was  too  directly  imported,  too  artifi- 
cial from  its  start,  being  adapted  from  the 
Greek,  to  allow  of  untrammelled  genius.  The 
most  fecund  of  its  great  writers,  Cicero  and 
Ovid,    are   litterateurs  and  versifiers  in  soul. 


INTRODUCTION  29 

This  literature  has,  however,  the  honor  of 
having  produced  the  two  most  admirable  poets 
of  the  literatures  of  imitation,  scholarship,  and 
fiuQ  taste,  two  chastened  and  perfected  types, 
—  Virgil  and  Horace. 

It  is  to  modern  times  and  to  the  renaissance 
that  we  must  look  for  the  other  men  of  whom 
we  are  in  search :  Shakespeare,  Cervantes,  Rabe- 
lais, Moliere,  with  two  or  three  others  of  un- 
equal rank;  and  that  is  all!  These  may  be 
characterized  by  resemblances.  They  all  had 
diverse  and  thwarted  destinies;  they  suffered, 
they  struggled,  they  loved.  Soldiers,  physi- 
cians, comedians,  captives,  they  found  it  hard 
to  live;  poverty,  passions,  vexing  cares,  im- 
peded enterprises  were  their  lot.  But  their 
genius  surmounted  all  barriers ;  not  feeling  or 
not  resenting  the  narrowness  of  the  struggle, 
they  kept  their  necks  from  the  yoke,  and 
gave  free  play  to  their  muscles.  These  grand 
individuals  seem  to  me  to  belong  to  the  very 
genius  of  poetic  humanity,  and  to  the  ever 
living  and  perpetuated  tradition  of  it,  —  its 
vmdeniable   personification. 

Moliere  is  one  of  these  illustrious  witnesses. 
Notwithstanding  the  fact  that  he  fully  embraces 
only  the  comic  side,   the  discordances  of  man- 


30  INTRODUCTION 

kind,  the  vices,  follies,  and  eccentricities  of 
the  race  (the  pathetic  side  being  scarcely 
touched  by  him,  and  then  only  as  a  rapid 
accessory),  he  yields  to  none  among  the  most 
complete;  so  much  does  he  excel  in  his  own 
field,  which  he  traversed  in  every  direction, 
from  the  freest  fancy  to  the  gravest  contem- 
plation; so  truly  does  he  reign  a  king  in  all 
the  regions  of  humanity  that  he  chose  for  his 
own,  —  regions  which  cover,  in  fact,  one  half 
of  man's  nature,  and  the  half  most  known  and 
most  actively  employed  in  the  social  sphere. 

Moli^re  is  of  the  epoch  in  which  he  lived, 
through  his  picturing  of  certain  peculiarities 
and  customs;  but  he  belongs  far  more  to  all 
time ;  he  is  the  man  of  human  nature.  Nothing 
gives,  at  the  start,  a  better  measure  of  his  genius 
than  to  see  with  what  facility  he  attaches  himself 
to,  and  then  detaches  himself  from  his  epoch; 
how  he  adapts  himself  precisely  to  it,  and  how 
he  rises  above  it  and  beyond  it,  grandly. 

Moliere  seems  to  us  in  these  days  far  more 
radically  aggressive  against  the  society  of  his 
day  than  he  believed  himself  to  be;  we  must 
remember  this  in  judging  of  him.  Among  his 
illustrious  contemporaries  there  is  one,  and 
only   one   (the   last  whom  we  might   naturally 


INTRODUCTION  31 

be  expected  to  compare  with  our  poet),  who, 
like  him,  and  even  more  thoroughly  than  he, 
questioned  the  foundations  of  the  society  of 
their  day,  and  looked  without  fear  or  favor  in 
the  face  of  birth,  titles,  and  wealth.  But 
Pascal  —  for  it  was  Pascal !  —  used  this  ruin 
that  he  made  of  things  about  him  only  to 
shake  with  greater  fury  the  pillars  of  the  tem- 
ple and  cling  convulsively  to  the  Cross.  These 
men,  Pascal  and  Moliere,  appear  to  us  in  our 
day  as  the  most  formidable  witnesses  to  the 
society  of  their  time :  Moliere  in  a  vast  range 
of  space,  reaching  almost  to  the  sanctuary,  rak- 
ing that  old  society  through  and  through,  and 
casting  pell-mell  to  the  laughter  of  all,  titled 
conceit  and  folly,  conjugal  inequality,  insidious 
hypocrisy;  pointing  out,  often  at  one  stroke, 
the  nature  of  just  homage,  true  piety,  and 
marriage;  Pascal,  in  the  bosom  of  ortho- 
doxy, making  the  vaults  ring  with  his  cries 
of  anguish,  as  he  shook  the  sacred  pillars  with 
the  strength  of  Samson. 

But  while  making  this  comparison  we  must 
not  attribute  to  Moliere  more  premeditation  of 
an  upheaval  of  existing  conditions  than  to 
Pascal;  perhaps  even  less.  Like  Shakespeare 
and   Cervantes    and    the    three    or  four   other 


32  INTRODUCTION 

greatest  minds  of  the  ages,  Moli^re  is  the 
painter  of  human  nature  in  itself,  without 
regard  for  creed,  dogma,  formal  constructions 
of  any  kind.  In  attacking  the  society  of  his 
time,  he  represented  the  life  that  is  every- 
where the  life  of  the  greatest  number;  and 
in  chastising  to  the  quick  the  manners  and 
morals  he  found  about  him,  he  wrote  for  all 
time  and  for  all  mankind. 

Amid  the  passions  of  his  youth,  and  the 
too  confiding  and  rash  enthusiasms  which  he 
followed  like  other  men,  Moliere  had  in  the 
highest  degree  the  gifts  of  observation  and 
reproduction,  and  the  faculty  of  finding  and 
seizing  the  hidden  springs  of  human  nature; 
which  he  afterwards  set  going  for  the  amuse- 
ment of  all.  Boileau,  his  lifelong  friend, 
called  him,  even  in  youth,  "  The  Contem- 
plator."  Later  in  life,  in  the  midst  of  his 
full,  sad  knowledge  of  the  human  heart  and 
its  divers  motives,  at  the  height  of  his  mourn- 
ful and  philosophic  contemplation,  he  still 
retained  in  his  own  heart  the  youthfulness 
of  his  lively  impressions,  the  faculty  of  pas- 
sions, of  love  and  its  jealousies,  the  secret 
and  truly  sacred  inward  fire.  Sublime  contra- 
diction! which   we  love  in  the  life  of  a  great 


INTRODUCTION  33 

poet;  indefinable  conjunction!  which  has  its 
counterpart  in  that  which  is  most  mysterious 
in  the  dramatic  and  comic  genius,  namely: 
the  painting  of  bitter  realities  by  means  of 
gay  and  easy  and  jovial  personages  who  have 
all  the  characteristics  of  nature;  the  profound 
dissection  of  the  human  heart  embodied  in 
active  and  original  beings,  who  translate  it  to 
the  eye  by  simply  being  themselves. 

Among  that  race  of  minds  which  at  diverse 
epochs  and  in  diverse  ranks  counts  among  its 
members  Cervantes,  Rabelais,  Le  Sage,  Field- 
ing, Beaumarchais,  Walter  Scott,  — ;  Moliere  is, 
with  Shakespeare,  the  most  complete  example 
of  the  dramatic,  or  to  speak  more  correctly, 
the  creative  faculty.  Shakespeare  has,  what 
Moliere  has  not,  pathetic  touches  and  flashes 
of  the  terrible:  Macbeth,  King  Lear,  Ophelia; 
though  in  saying  this  we  must  not  forget  in 
Moliere  a  quality  which  had  but  little  oppor- 
tunity to  show  itself,  namely:  the  exquisite 
tenderness  of  his  love-passages,  —  for  instance, 
in  "  Don  Juan. "  But  Moliere  redeems  this 
deficiency  in  other  regions  by  the  number, 
perfection  and  profound  consistency  of  his 
principal   characters. 

In  all  these  great  men  it  is  evident,  and  in 
3 


34  INTEODUCTION 

Moliere  most  evident  of  all,  that  dramatic 
genius  is  not  a  mere  development,  not  an 
expansion  of  the  lyrical  and  personal  faculty, 
which,  starting  from  private  inward  emotions, 
transports  the  being  of  the  poet  and  makes  it 
live  behind  other  masks  (like  Byron  in  his 
tragedies).  Neither  is  it  the  pure  and  simple 
application  of  an  analytical  and  critical  faculty, 
which  applies  discriminatingly  to  the  person- 
ages of  a  composition  the  scattered  traits  it 
has  gathered.  There  exists  a  whole  class  of 
genuine  dramatists  who  have  something  lyrical, 
something  almost  blind  in  their  inspiration,  — 
a  fervor  born  of  an  actual  living  sentiment, 
which  they  impart  directly  to  their  personages; 
a  familiar  spirit  whispers  to  them ;  they  are 
subject  to  sudden,  direct  emotions  in  the  crises 
of  their  dramatic  fever.  They  do  not  govern 
their  genius  according  to  the  plentitude  and 
order  of  human  liberty.  Often  sublime  and 
superb,  they  obey  I  know  not  what  instinctive 
cry,  or  noble  throbbing  of  their  blood,  like 
some  fine  generous  animals, — bulls  or  lions. 
So  doing,  they  know  not  what  they  do. 
Moliere,  like  Shakespeare,  does  know;  like 
his  great  predecessor,  he  moves,  it  may  be 
said,  in  a  broader  and  freer  sphere;  governing 


INTRODUCTION  36 

himself,  dominating  his  fire,  ardent  in  his 
work,  but  lucid  in  his  ardor.  Moli^re  and 
Shakespeare  are  of  the  primitive  race,  two 
brothers,  — with  this  difference,  I  fancy,  namely : 
that  in  ordinary  life,  Shakespeare,  the  poet 
of  tears  and  terrors,  would  develop  a  more 
smiling  and  happy  nature;  Moli^re,  the  gay 
and  joyous  comedian,  would  fall  into  silence 
and  melancholy. 

Each  of  Moli^re's  plays,  were  we  to  follow 
them  in  the  order  of  their  production,  would 
furnish  matter  for  an  extensive  and  most 
interesting  history,  which  cannot  be  given  here. 
The  year  of  "  Le  Misanthrope  "  (1666)  is  on 
the  whole  the  most  memorable  and  the  most 
significant  of  Moli^re's  life.  Hardly  was  that 
great  and  serious  masterpiece  accomplished, 
when  he  was  called  upon  to  provide  in  hot 
haste  for  the  joviality  of  the  bourgeoisie  by 
"  Le  Medecin  malgre  lui, "  and  then  to  rush 
to  Saint-Germain  and  write  and  play  the  comic 
pastoral  "  Melicerte, "  for  the  amusement  of 
the  court.  But  Moli^re  could  well  meet  all 
demands. 

He  has  been  praised  in  so  many  ways  as  a 
painter  of  manners  and  customs  and  of  human 
life  that  I  wish  to  point  out  his  merit  on  a 


36  INTRODUCTION 

side  which  has  been  too  little  brought  to  light, 
or,  I  might  say,  greatly  misunderstood.  Moliere, 
to  the  very  day  of  his  death,  was  continually 
progressing  in  the  poesy  of  comedy.  That  he 
was  thus  progressing  in  the  moral  conception 
of  what  is  called  high  comedy  (such  as  "  Le 
Misanthrope, "  "  TartulFe, "  and  "  Les  Femmes 
Savantes  ")  is  so  evident  that  I  do  not  need 
to  insist  upon  it  here.  But  side  by  side  with 
this  great  development,  by  which  reason  grew 
firmer  and  more  solid,  observation  more  ripe 
and  fruitful,  let  us  admire  the  ever  rising  and 
bubbling  comic  impulse;  wildly  frolicsome, 
very  rich,  and  wholly  inexhaustible,  which 
must  be  firmly  distinguished  (difficult  as  it 
may  be  to  define  the  limits)  from  the  rather 
Scarronesque  buffoonery  of  Moliere 's  earlier 
farce.  How  shall  I  express  it?  The  genius 
of  ironical  and  biting  satire  has  its  pure 
mirth,  its  lyric  gayety,  its  sparkling  laughter, 
effervescent,  prolonged,  almost  causeless,  evapo- 
rating from  its  cause  like  a  sportive  flame 
dancing  brighter  and  brighter  as  the  grosser 
combustion  ceases,  —  a  laughter  of  the  gods, 
supreme,  inextinguishable  !  "  Le  Bourgeois 
Gentilhorame, "  "  Monsieur  de  Pourqeaugnac, " 
"  Le   Malade  Imaginaire, "  bear  witness  in  the 


INTRODUCTION  37 

highest '  degree  to  this  gushing,  blithesome, 
spontaneous  merriment.  Monsieur  Jourdain, 
Pourgeaugnac,  Argan !  —  the  Sganarelle  strain 
continued,  but  more  poetic,  merrier,  more 
delightful  because  more  real.  Moliere,  being 
compelled,  for  the  court  entertainments,  to 
combine  his  comedies  with  ballets,  let  loose, 
in  these  dances  made  to  order,  a  bewildering 
crowd  of  burlesque  and  impetuously  vivacious 
choruses,  composed  of  lawyers,  tailors,  cooks, 
Turks,  apothecaries;  genius  makes  to  itself 
inspiration  out  of  necessity.  This  issue  once 
found,  Moli^re's  inventive  imagination  plunged 
gayly  into  it.  The  comedy-ballets  of  which  we 
speak  were  not  at  all  (and  this  should  be  care- 
fully remembered)  concessions  to  a  coarse  public, 
provocations  for  bourgeois  laughter,  —  although 
that  laughter  found  its  incitement  in  them. 
No,  they  were  in  the  first  place,  as  we  have 
said,  imagined  for  the  court  fgtes ;  but  Moliere 
soon  took  pleasure  in  them,  and  frolicked  light- 
heartedly  in  their  scenes.  The  ballet  and  in- 
terludes in  "  Le  Malade  Imaginaire "  were 
written  of  his  own  free  will,  the  play  not 
being  commanded  by  the  king. 

All   publishers  and  editors  who,  in  a  spirit 
of  honorable  emulation,   recruit  more  and  more 


38  INTRODUCTION 

readers  and  admirers  to  Moliere  should  be 
encouraged;  for,  to  my  mind,  it  is  a  public 
benefit  to  make  Moliere  beloved  by  the  many. 

To  love  Moliere  —  and  by  that  I  mean  to 
love  him  sincerely  and  with  all  one's  heart  — 
is,  do  you  know  it  ?  to  have  a  protection  within 
one's  self  against  many  defects,  many  caprices, 
many  vices  of  the  mind.  It  is,  in  the  first 
place,  not  to  love  that  which  is  incompatible 
with  Moliere,  that  which  was  repugnant  to 
him  in  his  own  time,  that  which  would  have 
been  intolerable  to  him  in  ours. 

To  love  Moliere  is  to  be  cured  forever,  I 
will  not  say  of  base  and  infamous  hypocrisy,  but 
of  fanaticism,  of  intolerance,  of  that  hardness 
which  anathematizes  and  curses ;  it  is  to  possess 
a  corrective  to  even  an  admiration  for  Bossuet 
and  all  those  who,  in  his  likeness,  triumph  — 
albeit  in  words  only  —  over  their  dead  or 
dying  enemy;  those  who  usurp  I  know  not 
what  sacred  language  and  involuntarily  fancy 
themselves,  thunderbolt  in  hand,  in  the  place 
and  office  of  the  Most  High.  Eloquent  and 
sublime  beings!  you  are  too  eloquent  and  too 
sublime  for  me. 

To  love  Moliere  is  to  be  equally  aloof,  nay, 
a  thousand  miles  apart,  from  that  other  fanati- 


INTRODUCTION  39 

cism,  cold,  barren,  cruel,  politic,  which  never 
laughs,  but,  rank  with  bigotry,  under  pretext  of 
puritanism  finds  a  way  to  amalgamate  all 
species  of  gall,  and  to  unite  in  a  single  bitter 
doctrine  the  hatred,  rancor,  and  jacobinism  of 
all  time.  It  is  also  to  be  equally  far  from  those 
colorless,  flabby  souls  who,  in  presence  of  evil, 
know  neither  how  to  rebuke  nor  how  to  hate. 

To  love  Moliere  is  to  be  saved  from  falling 
into  a  blind,  unlimited  admiration  for  Humanity, 
which  makes  an  idol  of  itself,  forgetting  the 
stuff  of  which  it  is  made  and  the  fact  that  it 
can  never  be,  whatsoever  it  may  do,  aught  else 
than  frail  and  puny  human  nature. 

To  love  and  cherish  Moliere  is  to  be  anti- 
pathetic to  all  mannerism  of  language  and 
expression;  it  is,  not  to  enjoy  or  linger  over 
mincing  graces,  studied  wit,  labored  art,  a 
flashing  and  artificial  syle,  —  in  short,  affectation 
of  any  kind. 

To  love  Moliere  is  to  be  inclined  to  love 
neither  false  brilliancy  of  mind  nor  pedantic 
knowledge;  it  is  to  recognize  our  Trissotin 
and  our  Vadius  at  a  glance  beneath  their  re- 
juvenated air  of  gallantry;  it  is,  not  to  allow 
one's  self  to  be  taken  in,  in  our  day  any  more  than 
in  Moliere 's  day,  by  the  perennial  Philaminte, 


40  INTRODUCTION 

that  pricieuse  of  all  time,  whose  form  alone 
changes,  and  whose  plumage  is  incessantly  re- 
newed; it  is  to  love  uprightness  and  health  of 
mind,   in  others  as  well  as  in  ourselves. 

In  saying  this  I  give  but  the  key  and  the  air ; 
the  variations  may  be  continued  indefinitely. 


MoLiiBE  was,*  in  the  middle  of  the  seven- 
teenth century,  the  creator  and  promoter  of  real- 
ism; re-acting  from  the  sublime  and  romantic 
drama,  till  then  engaged  with  intrigue  and  in- 
cident outside  of  the  common  measure  of  hu- 
manity. Dramatic  work  was  to  him  the  painting 
of  the  manners  and  customs  and  nature  of 
the  men  and  women  about  him.      He  brought 

drama  out  of  a  taste  for  the  abnormal  to  a  love 

ft 

of  the  natural.  He  observed  and  painted  men. 
"  The  business  of  comedy, "  he  said,  "  is  to 
represent  in  general  the  faults  and  foibles  of 
mankind,  and  in  particular  those  of  our  epoch." 
For  this  reason  he  is  one  of  the  greatest 
painters  of  humanity  that  humanity  has  pro- 
duced. He  sees,  in  the  first  instance,  justly; 
then  he  enlarges,  without  caricaturing,  in  order 

1  femile  Faguet,  Dix-Septieme  Sibcle.  Lacfene,  Ou- 
din,  et  C",  Paris,  1890. 


INTRODUCTION  41 

to  press  the  truth  home  to  the  mind  of  the 
spectator.  But  his  passion  for  truth  is  such 
that  he  has  not  refrained  from  occasionally  sacri- 
ficing to  it  the  advantage  and  satisfaction  of 
being  rmderstood  easily  and  at  once.  Know- 
ing that  men  are  neither  aU  good  nor  all  bad, 
but  a  mixture  of  good  and  evil,  he  has  not  been 
willing  (like  other  dramatic  poets)  to  sacrifice, 
for  the  purpose  of  being  clear,  the  presentation 
of  good  in  evil  and  evil  in  good,  in  his  char- 
acters. He  has  given  generosity  to  Don  Juan, 
tenderness  to  that  vile  character  of  Arnolphe 
("  L'Ecole  des  Femmes  "),  and  some  absurdity 
to  Alceste  ("  Le  Misanthrope  "),  because,  as  he 
said  himself,  "  it  is  not  incompatible  that  a 
man  should  be  ridiculous  in  some  things  and 
a  worthy  man  in  all  others." 

"  Le  Misanthrope "  would  be  more  accu- 
rately described  as  a  dramatic  tableau  than  as 
a  comedy.  The  plot  is  slight  and  may  be  said 
to  have  no  finale.  The  interest  of  curiosity  is 
not  excited;  Moliere  did  not  even  think  of 
exciting  it.  What  he  wished  to  do  was  to 
make  a  picture  of  one  corner  of  the  society  of 
his  day;  and  that  he  has  done  in  the  most 
delicate  and  high-bred  piece  of  satire  ever 
written;  done  by  means  of  a  witty,  coquettish. 


42  INTRODUCTION 

utterly  false  woman  of  the  world;  an  honest, 
upright,  noble-minded  gentleman,  so  blunt,  so 
violently  truthful  as  to  make  himself  ridiculous ; 
with  an  attendant  company  of  pretentious  little 
marquises,  a  conceited  poet,  a  malignant  prude, 
a  sensible  man  of  the  world,  serviceable  in  his 
way  and  right-minded  at  heart,  and  a  good  and 
sincere  young  girl.  Highest  in  the  scale  of 
Moliere's  art  stands  Alceste;  Alceste,  that  is  to 
say,  all  that  there  is  most  serious,  most  elevated 
in  comedy;  the  point  where  the  ridiculous 
borders  on  courage  and  virtue;  one  step  more 
and  the  comic  ceases  and  we  have  before  us  a 
character  purely  generous,  almost  heroic  and 
tragical. 

The  comedy  is  a  masterpiece,  and  French 
writers  call  its  wit  essentially  French.  They 
say  that  its  delicate  charm  is  not  appreciated  by 
foreigners,  while  in  France  it  is  a  feast  of  pleas- 
ure to  persons  of  taste.  It  remains  to  be  seen 
whether  in  English  words  this  charm  will  have 
so  evaporated  that  English  readers  will  not 
appreciate  it. 


THE   MISANTHROPE 


Cflinetig 

IN   FIVE   ACTS 


PERSONAGES 


Alcestb 
Philinte 
Oronte  . 
Celim^jne 

ifeLIANTB 

Aksinoe 

ACASTE    . 

Clitandre 
Basque  . 
Soldier 
Dubois  . 


Lover  of  Crimen*. 
Friend  of  Alceste. 
Lover  of  Celimene. 
A  young  widow. 
Cousin  of  C€limene. 
Friend  of  Ce'limene. 

■  Marquises. 

Footman  to  Celimene. 
Of  the  Marshals'  Guard. 
Valet  to  Alceste. 


The  scene  is  in  Paris,  at  the  house  of  C^lim6ne. 


THE    MISANTHROPE 

^ct  iFtrat 


SCENE    FIKST 
Philinte,  Alcestb 

Philinte. 
What  is  the  matter?      What  troubles  you, 
Alceste  ? 

Alceste,  seated. 
Leave  me,  I  beg  of  you. 

Philinte. 
But  still,  tell  me,  what  whim — 

Alceste. 
Leave  me,  I  say ;  take  yourself  out  of  sight. 

Philinte. 
But  at  least  you  might  listen  to  a  man  with- 
out being  angry. 


46  THE  MISANTHEOPE  [Act  I 

Alceste. 
I  choose  to  be  angry,  and  I  do  not  choose  to 
listen. 

Philinte. 

I  cannot  understand  you  when  your  temper 
is  hot ;  and  though  we  are  friends,  I  — 

Alceste. 
Friends!  I  your  friend?  Strike  my  name 
off  your  list.  Till  now  I  have  professed  to  be 
your  friend;  but  after  what  I  have  just  seen  of 
you,  I  tell  you  bluntly  I  am  so  no  longer.  I 
will  hold  no  place  in  a  corrupted  heart. 

Philinte. 
Then,  am  I  guilty  in  your  eyes,  Alceste  ? 

Alceste. 
You  ought  to  die  of  shame ;  such  conduct  can- 
not be  excused  ;  all  men  of  honor  must  feel 
humiliated  by  it.  I  see  you  overwhelming  a 
stranger  with  attentions;  testifying  the  utmost 
ardor  for  him  ;  making  protestations,  offers  of 
service,  vows;  and  when  I  ask  you  afterward 
who  he  is,  you  can  hardly  tell  me  the  man's 
name  !  Your  ardor  for  him  sinks  the  moment 
that  you  leave   him,    and  you   inform  me  he 


Scene  I]  THE  MISANTHROPE  47 

is  nothing  to  you.  Good  God  !  it  is  a  shame- 
ful thing,  base,  infamous,  thus  to  degrade  your 
soul  by  treachery;  if  I,  through  some  mis- 
fortune, had  done  as  much  I  would  go  hang 
myself  in  sheer  remorse. 

Philinte. 
I    cannot    see,    for    my    part,    that    mine's 
a   hanging    case;    so    I   make   bold   to   appeal 
against  your  sentence  and  beg  you  not  to  hang 
me,  if  it  please  you. 

Alceste. 
Jesting  is  most  unseemly. 

Philinte. 

Seriously,  'then,    what  would   you  have  me 

do? 

Alceste. 

I  would  have  you  be  sincere,  and,  as  a  man 

of  honor,   say  no  word  that  is  not  from  your 

heart. 

Philinte. 

But  when  a  man  comes  up  to  you  and  salutes 

you  joyfully,  surely  you  must  pay  him  in  the 

self-same    coin,     make    some    response    to    his 

civilities,  return  him  offer  for  offer  and  vow  for 

vow. 


48  THE  MISANTHROPE  [Act  I 

Alceste. 

No,  —  I  cannot  endure  that  abject  custom 
which  the  majority  of  your  worldly  friends 
affect.  I  hate  nothing  so  much  as  the  bow- 
ing and  scraping  of  those  great  makers  of 
protestations,  those  affable  givers  of  trumpery 
kisses,  those  obliging  praters  of  empty  words, 
who  strive  to  outdo  each  other  with  civili- 
ties, and  treat  an  honest  man  and  a  scoundrel 
with  the  same  air  and  manner.  What  advan- 
tage is  it  to  you  if  a  man  courts  you,  swears 
friendship,  faith,  zeal,  honor,  tenderness,  makes 
you  some  fulsome  compliment,  and  then  turns 
round  to  the  first  rascal  whom  he  meets,  and 
does  the  same?  No,  no,  a  well-conditioned 
soul  wants  no  esteem  so  prostituted;  the  finest 
hospitalities  are  valueless  when  we  find  ourselves 
rated  with  the  crowd.  Esteem  is  based  on  pref- 
erence ;  to  esteem  the  whole  Avorld  alike  is  to  feel 
no  esteem  for  any  one.  And  because  you  addict 
yourself  to  these  vices  of  the  time,  morbleu  / 
you  are  not  of  my  kind.  I  refuse  the  vast 
complaisance  of  a  heart  that  sees  no  shades  of 
merit;  I  chose  that  mine  shall  be  distinguished, 
and  —  to  cut  the  matter  short  —  the  f i*iend  of 
the  whole  human  race  is  not  to  my  liking. 


ScBNEl]  THE  MISANTHROPE  49 

Philinte. 
But  so  long  as  we  live  in  social  life,  we  must 
pay  the  outward  civilities  that  custom  demands. 

Alceste. 
No,  I  tell  you,  no;  we  ought  to  chastise, 
pitilessly,  this  shameful  interchange  of  make- 
helieve  friendship.  I  want  a  man  to  be  a  man , 
and  let  the  bottom  of  his  heart  be  seen  in  all  he 
says,  and  in  all  he  does.  Let  it  be  himself 
who  speaks,  —  not  masking  his  real  feelings 
behind  false  compliments. 

Philinte. 
There  are  many  situations  in  which  plain 
frankness  would  become  ridiculous,  and  is  not 
permissible ;  and  sometimes  —  if  it  please  your 
lofty  honor  —  it  may  be  well  to  hide  what  is  in 
our  hearts.  Would  it  be  fitting,  would  it  be 
decent  to  tell  all  men  what  we  think  of  them  ? 
And  if  there  be  any  one  whom  we  dislike  or 
think  unpleasant  ought  we  to  let  him  know  it  ? 

Alceste. 
Yes. 

Philinte. 

What!  would  you  tell  old   ;6milie  that   'tis 
unbecoming  at  her  age  to  play  the  pretty  girl; 
or  that  the  paint  she  wears  shocks  every  one? 
4 


60  THE  MISANTHROPE  [Act  I 

Alceste. 
Undoubtedly. 

Philinte. 
Would  you  tell  Dorilas  that  he  is  tiresome ; 
that  there  is  not  an  ear  at  court  he  does  not 
weary  with  tales  of  his  own  bravery  and  the 
glory  of  his  race? 

Alceste. 
I  should. 

Philinte. 

You  are  joking. 

Alceste. 

I  am  not  joking.  In  future  I  will  spare 
none.  My  eyes  are  too  offended.  Court  and 
society  both  show  me  nouglit  but  things  that 
stir  my  bile.  When  I  see  men  living  together 
as  they  do  a  black  spleen  seizes  me,  a  bitter 
grief.  Everywhere  I  find  base  flattery,  in- 
justice, self-interest,  treachery,  deceit.  I  can- 
not bear  it  longer;  I  am  enraged;  and  my 
intention  is  to  tell  the  truth,  henceforth,  to 
all  the  human  race. 

Philinte. 

Your  philosophic  wrath  is  somewhat  savage; 
I  laugh  at  that  black  spleen  I  see  has  gripped 
you.     You  and  I  are  like  the  brothers  in  the 


Scene  1]  THE  MISANTHROPE  51 

"  School  for  Husbands, "   brought  up   as  one, 
and  yet  — 

Alceste. 

Good  God!  give  up  those  dull  comparisons. 

Philinte. 

Give  up  yourself  this  churlish  virulence. 
Your  teachings  cannot  change  the  world.  Since 
frankness  charms  you,  I  will  tell  you  bluntly 
this  disease  of  yours  is  laughed  at  everywhere 
you  go.  Such  wrath  against  the  ways  of  the 
world  makes  you  ridiculous  in  the  eyes  of 
many. 

Alceste. 

So  much  the  better ;  good  heaven !  so  much 
the  better;  that  is  what  I  want;  to  me  'tis 
the  best  of  signs  and  a  great  satisfaction.  Men 
have  become  so  odious  to  me  that  I  'd  be  grieved 
indeed  to  be  well  thought  of  by  them. 

Philinte. 

Then  you  attribute  nought  but  evil  to  human 
nature  ] 

Alceste. 

I  do ;  I  hate  it  with  a  dreadful  hatred. 


52  THE  MISANTHROPE  [Act  I 

Philinte. 
All  poor   mortals,    then,  without   exception, 
are   included   in   this    deep   aversion?      Surely 
there  may  be,  in  our  present  age  — 

Alceste. 
No,  it  is  universal;  I  hate  all  men:  some 
because  they  are  wicked  and  evil-doers;  others 
because  they  fawn  upon  the  wicked,  and  dare 
not  show  that  vigorous  hatred  which  virtuous 
souls  should  feel  to  vice.  From  such  com- 
pliance comes  immunity  for  the  bare-faced 
villain  whom  I  now  am  suing.  Behind  his 
mask  the  knave  is  seen,  wherever  he  is  known, 
for  what  he  is ;  the  rolling  of  his  eye,  his  bated 
voice,  impose  on  none  but  those  who  do  not  live 
here.  All  others  know  that  the  sneaking  fellow, 
fit  only  to  be  shunned,  has  by  the  foulest 
actions  foisted  himself  upon  society,  where  his 
career,  by  their  connivance  clothed  in  splendor, 
makes  merit  groan  and  virtue  blush.  No  cries 
of  "  shame  "  can  make  his  miserable  honor  hear 
them.  Call  him  a  knave,  a  scoundrel,  a  damned 
villain,  all  the  world  agrees,  and  no  man  con- 
tradicts you ;  but  —  he  is  welcomed  everywhere ; 
wherever  he  may  worm  himself  he  's  greeted ; 
men  smile  upon  him ;  and  if  there  's  a  canvass 


ScenbI]  the  misanthrope  53 

to  be  made,  a  place  to  be  intrigued  for,  you 
will  see  him  get  the  better  of  honest  men. 
Great  God !  it  is  to  me  a  mortal  wound  to  see 
how  vice  is  thus  condoned  and  trafficked  with. 
At  times  the  impulse  seizes  me  to  flee  to  a 
desert  and  renounce  my  kind. 

Philinte. 
Good  heavens  !  why  take  the  customs  of 
our  time  so  hard;  why  be  so  little  merciful 
to  human  nature  ?  Examine  it  less  sternly, 
and  see  its  failures  with  some  gentleness.  In 
social  life  we  need  a  pliant  virtue;  severe 
integrity  is  often  blamable ;  sound  reason  shuns 
extremes,  and  teaches  wisdom  with  sobriety. 
The  rigid  virtue  of  the  olden  time  jars  with 
our  age  and  with  our  modern  customs.  We 
must  yield  somewhat  to  our  time,  and  not 
reluctantly.  It  is  a  folly,  second  to  no  other, 
to  nfieddle  with  the  world  and  try  to  mend  it. 
I  see,  as  you  do,  fifty  things  a  day  which 
might  be  better,  or  take  other  courses.  At 
every  step  I  'm  tempted  to  break  forth,  like 
you,  but  no  one  sees  me  do  it.  I  take  men 
gently  just  for  what  they  are ;  I  've  trained 
my  soul  to  tolerate  what  they  do.  At  court 
and  in  society  I  think  my  phlegm,  Alceste, 
is,   to  the  full,  as  philosophic  as  your  bile. 


64  THE  MISANTHROPE  [Act  I 

Alceste. 
But  that  phlegm,  Philinte,  which  reasons 
well,  is  it  incapable  of  indignation?  Suppose, 
perchance,  a  friend  betrayed  you,  or  frauds 
were  planned  to  steal  your  property,  or  wicked 
rumors  spread  to  injure  you,  —  could  you  endure 
aU  that  and  not  be  angry  ? 

Philinte. 
Yes.  I  regard  those  evils,  that  your  soul 
resents,  as  vices  consequent  to  human  nature; 
my  soul  is  not  more  shocked  by  seeing  men 
unjust,  dishonest,  selfish,  than  by  the  sight 
of  vultures  hungering  after  carnage,  or  thiev- 
ing monkeys  or  infuriate  wolves. 

Alceste. 
I  '11  see  myself  betrayed,  hacked  into  pieces, 
robbed,   before  I  '11  —     Good  God !  why  talk  1 
such  reasoning  is  sheer  sophistry. 

Philinte. 

Paith!  I   advise   you  to  keep  silence;   don't 

rage  against  your  kind  so  much,  and  give  more 

care  to  the  lawsuit  which  you  have  upon  your 

hands. 

Alceste. 

I  shall  give  none ;  that  I  'm  determined  on. 


Scene  I]  THE  AHSANTHROPE  66 

Philinte. 

Then  who  do   you   expect  will   plead  your 

case? 

Alceste. 

Plead  it?  why,    reason,  my  good  right,  atid 

equity. 

Philinte. 

Do  you  mean  you  will  not  go  to  see  a  single 

judge  1 

Alceste. 

Not  one.     My  cause  is  neither  doubtful  nor 

imjust. 

Philinte. 

Agreed;   but  underhand  intrigues  are  most 

disastrous,   and  — 

Alceste. 
No;  I  'm  resolved  to  take  no  steps.    Either 
I  am  wrong,  or  I  am  right. 

Philinte. 

Don't  trust  to  that. 

Alceste. 
I  shall  not  stir  a  finger. 

Philinte. 
Your  enemy  is  strong,  and  may,  by  making 
a  cabal,    bear  off — 


66  THE  MISANTHROPE  [Act  I 

AliCESTE. 

I  care  nought  for  that. 

Philinte. 
Then  you  are  wrong. 

Alceste. 
So  be  it.     I  wish  to  see  him  win  the  case. 

Philinte. 
But— 

Alceste. 
I  shall  have  pleasure  if  I  lose  my  suit. 

Philinte. 
But  surely  — 

Alceste. 

I  shall  see  iu  court  if  men  will  have  the 
effrontery  —  will  be  wicked,  scoundrelly,  per- 
verse enough  —  to  do  me  injustice  openly  before 
the  world. 

Philinte. 

Oh,  what  a  man ! 

Alceste. 

I  wovdd  gladly  lose  my  cause,  did  it  cost  me 
half  my  fortune,  to  prove  that  fact. 


Scene  I]  THE  MISANTHROPE  67 

Philintb. 
The  world   would    laugh  at  you    in    bitter 
earnest  if  it  could  hear  you  talk  in  this  way, 
Alceste. 

Alceste. 

So  much  the  worse  for  him  who  laughs. 

Philintb. 

But  this  integrity  you  ask  from  every  one, 
this  honest  and  straightforward  dealing  in  which 
you  hug  yourself,  do  you  find  it  here  in  her  you 
love?  It  does  surprise  me  that  having  quar- 
relled witn  the  human  race  so  bitterly,  you  have 
been  caught,  in  spite  of  much  you  might  indeed 
think  odious,  by  that  which  charms  the  eye. 
But  what  surprises  me  still  more,  is  the  strange 
choice  to  which  your  heart  is  pledged.  Eliante, 
sincere  and  truthful,  has  a  liking  for  you; 
Arsinoe,  the  prude,  looks  softly  at  you  with 
a  melting  eye ;  and  yet  your  soul  rejects  their 
love  and  makes  itself  a  toy  for  Celimene,  whose 
coquetry  and  treacherous  wit  symbol  the  morals 
of  the  present  day.  How  comes  it  that,  hat- 
ing as  you  do  our  social  foibles,  you  can  endure 
the  ways  of  that  fair  lady  1  Does  all  you  hate 
cease  to  be  evil  in  so  sweet  a  form?  or  —  do 
you  choose  excuse  it  J 


68  THE  MISANTHROPE  [Act  I 

AliCESTE. 

No;  the  love  I  feel  for  that  young  widow 
in  no  way  blinds  me  to  her  great  defects.  I 
am,  in  spite  of  the  passion  she  inspires  in 
me,  the  first  to  see  them  and  the  first  to  blame. 
But  with  it  all,  in  spite,  too,  of  my  will,  she 
has  —  I  own  my  weakness  —  the  art  of  pleas- 
ing me.  In  vain  I  see  her  faults;  in  vain  I 
blame  her;  in  spite  of  all,  she  makes  me  love 
her.  Her  grace,  her  charm,  are  stronger  than 
all  else.  Doubtless,  my  love  will  purge  her 
soul  of  worldly  vices  in  the  course  of  time. 

Philinte. 
If  you  do   that  you  will   have  done   great 
things.     Then  you  think  she  loves  you  1 

Alceste. 
Yes,  by  heaven !     I  could  not  love  her  did 
she  not  love  me. 

Philinte. 
But  if  her  love  for  you  is  so  apparent  why 
do  you  fret  yourself  about  your  rivals? 

Alceste. 
Because   a  heart  which   deeply  loves  needs 
that  the   object  of  that  love  be  all  its  own; 


Scene  II]         THE  MISANTHROPE  59 

and   I   have  come  here  now  to  tell  her,  as  to 
that,    all   that  my  passion  urges  me  to  say. 

Philinte. 
For  my  part,  if  'twere  granted  me  to  form 
a  wish,  her  cousin  Eliante  would  have  my 
longings.  Eliante's  heart,  which  cares  for 
yours,  is  steadfast  and  sincere;  had  your 
choice  fallen  there  it  would  have  been  in 
keeping  with  your  needs. 

Alceste. 
True  ;  my  reason  daily  tells  me  so ;  but  't  is 
not  reason  that  rules  love. 

Philinte. 
I  greatly  fear  your   passion  and  your  hopes 
may— - 


SCENE  SECOND 

Okonte,  Philinte,  Alceste 

Oronte,  to  Alceste. 
They  told  me  below  that  Celimfene  and 
Eliante  had  gone  out  shopping ;  but  as  they  also 
said  that  you  were  here,  I  have  come  up  to  tell 
you  from  an  honest  heart  how  great  an  admi- 
ration I  've  conceived  for  you,  and  that  I  long 


60  THE  MISANTHROPE  [Act  I 

have  had  an  ardent  wish  to  be  among  your 
friends.  Yes,  my  heart  revels  in  doing  justice 
to  great  merit;  and  I  eagerly  desire  some  bond 
of  friendship  to  unite  us.  A  warm  friend  of 
my  quality  is  not,  I  think,  to  be  rejected. 
[^Durinff  Oronte's  harangue  Alceste  is  dreamy 
and  seems  not  to  notice  he  is  being  spoken 
to.  He  does  not  come  out  of  his  revery  till 
Oronte  says  .•]  It  is  to  you,  if  you  please,  that 
my  words  are  addressed. 

Alceste. 
To  me,  monsieur  ? 

Oronte. 
To  you.     Do  you  find  them  displeasing  ? 

Alceste. 
Not  at  all.     But  my  surprise  is  great,  for  I 
did  not  expect  the  honor  I  receive. 

Obonte. 
You  need  feel  no  surprise  at  the  esteem  in 
which   I   hold   you,    since   that   of  the   whole 
universe  is  yours. 

Alceste. 
Monsieur  — 


ScbnbII]       the  misanthrope  61 

Oronte. 
The   State   has   no   reward   that   is   not   far 
beneath  the  dazzling  merit  all  men  see  in  you. 

Alceste. 
Monsieur  — 

Obonte. 
Yes;   for  my  part,  I  hold  you  preferable  to 
all  I  see  that  is  most  eminent. 

Alceste. 
Monsieur  — 

Oronte. 
May  the  heavens  crush  me  if  my  words  are 
false.  To  prove  my  feelings,  suffer  me  to 
embrace  you  with  an  open  heart,  —  asking,  as 
I  do  so,  a  place  in  your  regard.  Give  me 
your  hand,  if  it  please  you.  You  promise  me, 
do  you  not,  your  friendship? 

,  Alceste. 

Monsieur  — 

Oronte. 
What!  you  refuse? 

Alceste. 
Monsieur,   the  honor  you  propose   to   me   is 
great.     But  friendship  asks  more  mystery ;  and 
it  is,  assuredly,  a  profanation  of  that  name  to 


62  THE  MISANTHROPE  [Act  I 

seek  to  use  it  upon  all  occasions.  Sucli  union 
is  born  of  knowledge  and  of  choice ;  we  should 
know  each  other  better  before  we  bind  our- 
selves; for  each  might  have  such  dispositions 
that  both  would  soon  repent  of  our  rash 
bargain. 

Oronte. 

Ah!  there  indeed  you  speak  with  judgment, 
and  my  esteem  for  you  is  all  the  greater.  Let 
us  leave  time  to  knot  these  gentle  bonds.  Mean- 
time, I  place  myself  at  your  disposal.  If  you 
have  any  overtures  to  make  at  court,  command 
me ;  for  it  is  known  I  have  some  favor  with  the 
king;  he  listens  to  me;  and,  upon  my  word,  in 
every  way  he  treats  me  most  considerately-  In 
short,  I  am  yours,  to  use  as  you  may  wish ;  and, 
as  your  mind  is  known  to  be  so  brilliant,  I  have 
come  —  in  order  to  begin  the  tie  between  us  — 
to  read  to  you  a  sonnet  I  have  lately  written, 
and  ask  you  if  'twere  well  to  offer  it  to  the 
public. 

Alceste. 

Monsieur,  I  am  most  unfit  to  settle  such  a 
question.     I  beg  you  to  excuse  me. 

Obonte. 
Excuse  you !  why  ? 


Scene  II]         THE  MISANTHROPE  63 

Alceste. 

I  have  the  defect  of  being  more  sincere  than 

persons  wish. 

Oronte. 

But  that   is  what  I    want.     I    should   have 

reason  to  complain  if,  trusting  to  your  sincerity 

to  speak  without   disguise,  you  should  deceive 

me. 

Alceste. 

If  that  is  how  you  take  it,  monsieur,  I  am 

willing. 

Oronte. 

Sonnet  —  It  is  a  sonnet,  monsieur.  To  Hope 
—  in  fact,  to  a  lady  who  has  granted  some  hope 
to  my  passion.  To  Hope  —  The  lines  are 
not  grand,  pompous  poesy,  but  simple  verses, 
tender,  sweet,  and  languishing. 

Alceste. 
We  shall  see,  monsieur. 

Oronte. 
To  Hope —     I  know  not  whether  the  style 
will  seem  to  you  sufficiently  clear  and  easy,  and 
whether  my  choice  of  words  will  satisfy  you. 

Alceste. 
We  shall  see,  monsieur. 


64  THE  MISANTHROPE  [Act  I 

Oronte. 
I  ought,  perhaps,  to  tell  you  that  I  was  only 
a  quarter  of  an  hour  in  writing  them. 

Alceste. 

Go  on,  monsieur;  the  time  has  nothing  to  do 

with  it. 

Oronte,  reading. 

'T  is  true  that  hope  doth  comfort  bring, 
And  it  rocks  a  time  our  sorrow ; 
But,  Phillis,  't  is  a  sadder  thing 
If  he  comes  not  on  the  morrow. 

Philinte. 
I  am  charmed  already  with  the  little  poem. 

Alceste,  low  to  Philinte. 
What !  have  you  the  face  to  call  that  fine  ? 

Oronte,  reading. 

Your  complaisance  methinks  is  lost ; 
You  ought  to  keep  your  favors  low, 
And  not  yourself  put  to  such  cost, 
If  hope  is  all  you  deign  bestow. 

Philinte. 
Ah !  with  what  gallantry  that  phrase  is  turned. 

Alceste,  low  to  Philinte. 
Good  heavens !  vile  flatterer,  you  are  praising 
nonsense. 


ScBNun]         THE  MISANTHROPE  66 

Okonte,  reading. 

K  hope  eternally  delayed, 
Quenches  my  ardor  thus  betrayed, 
Death  can  alone  my  snccor  be. 

Tour  smiles  can  nothing  then  repair. 
Fair  Phillis,  it  is  all  despair 
When  we  must  hope  eternally. 

Philinte. 
The  cadence  of  that  last  line  is  charming, 
amorous,  admirable. 

Alceste,  aside. 
Damn  his  cadence !    The  devil !  't  is  poisonous ) 
I  would  the  words  might  choke  him. 

Philinte. 
I  have  never  heard  verses  better  turned. 

Alceste,  aside. 
Good  God  ! 

Oronte,  to  Philinte. 
You  flatter  me ;  perhaps  you  think  — 

Philinte. 
I  never  flatter. 

Alceste,    aside. 
Ah,  traitor !  what  are  you  doing  now  I 
9 


66  THE  MISANTHROPE  [Act  I 

Oronte,  to  Alceste. 
But  you  ?    Remember  the  terms  of  our  treaty ; 
speak  to  me,  I  entreat  you,  in  all  sincerity. 

Alceste. 
Monsieur,  this  matter  is  always  delicate.  We 
like  to  be  flattered  on  our  wit  and  wisdom.  I 
said  one  day  to  a  man  whose  name  I  will  not 
mention,  on  hearing  certain  verses  he  had 
written,  that  it  behoved  a  gallant  man  to 
restrain  the  lust  of  scribbling  which  seizes  on 
us  all,  and  put  a  curb  upon  his  passion  for  no- 
toriety through  such  amusements;  and  I  also 
told  him  that  by  his  eagerness  to  show  his 
work  to  others   he   laid   himself  open   to   the 

jeers  of  malice. 

Obonte. 

Do  you  mean  by  that  to  tell  me  I  am  wrong 

in  wishing  — 

Alceste. 

I  do  not  say   so.     I  warned  him  that   cold 

criticism  crushed;   that  for  this  weakness  men 

were   much   decried;  that  they  might   have   a 

hundred   noble  qualities,  but  the  world  would 

judge  them  only  by  their  foibles. 

Oronte. 
You  think,  then,  that  my  sonnet  is  amiss  ? 


Scene  n]         THE  MISANTHROPE  67 

Alceste. 

I  do  not  say  so.  I  showed  him,  to  stop 
his  writiDg,  ■  how,  in  our  day,  this  lust  of 
scribbling  has  spoiled  most  worthy  men. 

Obonte. 
Do  I  write  badly,  and  resemble  them  ? 

Alceste. 

I  do  not  say  so.  Finally  I  said :  "  What 
pressing  need  have  you  to  make  these  rhymes  1 
What  devil  drives  you  into  print  ?  If  the  issue 
of  a  wretched  book  is  ever  pardonable  it  is  when 
some  poor  luckless  fellow  has  written  it  for 
bread.  Believe  me,  resist  your  temptations; 
deprive  the  public  of  your  labors.  Don't  sac- 
rifice —  no  matter  who  may  urge  it  —  the  name 
you  bear  at  court  as  a  most  worthy  man  to  take 
from  grasping  printers  the  repute  of  a  ridiculous 
and  miserable  author. "  That  is  what  I  endeav- 
ored to  make  him  iinderstand. 

Oronte. 

This  is  all  very  well,  and  I  think  I  under- 
stand you.  But  may  I  not  know  what  there 
is  in  my  sonnet  — 


68  THE  MISANTHROPE  [Act  I 

Alceste. 

Frankly,  it  is  good  for  nothing  but  to  put 
in  the  fire.  You  have  modelled  yourself  on 
the  worst  examples,  None  of  your  expressions 
are  natural.  "  Kocks  a  time  "  —  what  is  that  1 
"He  comes  not  on  the  morrow" — who  comes? 
"  And  not  yourself  put  to  such  test  "  —  what  a 
phrase !  And  what  may  this  mean :  "  Phillis, 
it  is  all  despair  when  we  must  hope  eternally  "  ? 
This  figurative  style,  of  which  our  present  writers 
are  so  proud,  is  out  of  keeping  with  sincerity 
and  sound  writing.  'T  is  a  mere  trick  of  words, 
pure  affectation.  That  is  not  the  way  in  which 
nature  speaks.  The  shocking  taste  of  the 
present  century  alarms  me ;  coarse  as  our 
fathers  were,  their  taste  was  better.  As  for 
me,  I  care  far  less  for  the  finest  things  of 
the  day  than  for  this  old  song  I  '11  now  repeat 
to  you:  — 

"  If  the  king  had  given  to  me 
His  great  town,  his  belle  Paris, 
Would  I  but  leave  my  sweet,  my  dear. 
My  dear  I  love  so  well ; 
I  should  say  to  the  King  Henri, 
Take  back,  take  back  your  belle  Pans, 
I  love  my  love, 

Ogay! 
I  love  my  love  too  well." 


Scene  n]         THE  MISANTHROPE  69 

The  rhyme  is  not  rich,  and  the  style  is  old- 
fashioned  ;  but  do  you  not  see  how  much  better 
it  is  than  all  that  affectation  at  which  good  sense 
groans  1     See  how  simple  passion  speaks :  — 

"  K  the  king  had  given  to  me 
His  great  town,  his  belle  Paris, 
Would  I  but  leave  ray  sweet,  my  dear, 
My  dear  I  love  so  well ; 
I  should  say  to  the  ICing  Henri, 
Take  back,  take  back  your  belle  Parts, 
I  love  my  love, 

Ogay! 
I  love  my  love  too  well." 

That's  what  the  heart  says  when  it  really 

loves.     [To  Philinte,  who  is  laughing']    Yes, 

you   may   scoff;    but   in   spite   of   your   beaux 

esprits,  I  think  more  of  that  song  than  of  all 

the  flowery  pomposity  and  false  brilKancy  which 

they  cry  up. 

Oronte. 

For  my  part,  I  insist  that  my  verses  are  good. 

Alceste. 
You  have  your  reasons  for  thinking  so,  and 
you  must  allow  me  to  have  my  reasons,  which 
decline  to  submit  to  yours. 

Oronte. 
*T  is   sufficient  for  me  to  know  that  others 
think  well  of  them. 


70  THE  MISANTHROPE  [Act  I 

Alcbste. 
Others  have  the  art  of  feigning ;  I  have  not. 

Oronte. 
Did  nature  allot  you  a  monopoly  of  brains  ? 

Alceste. 
Should  I  have  more  if  I  praised  your  verses  1 

Oronte. 
I  can  do  very  well  without  your  approval. 

Alceste. 
You,  must,  if  you  please,  do  without  it. 

Oronte. 
I  would  like  to  see  you   compose,   in  your 
style,  a  sonnet  on  that  subject. 

Alceste. 

I   might,  by  ill-luck,    make  sonnets  as  bad; 

but  I  should  take  good  care  that  no  one  ever 

saw  them. 

Oronte. 

You  speak  very  curtly ;  and  all  this  assump- 
tion— 

Alceste. 

Go,  seek  elsewhere  the  incense  that  you  want. 

Oronte. 
Be  pleased,  my  little  monsieur,  to  lower  your 
tone. 


PHILINTE.     Messieurs,  this  is  going  too  far. 
Let  the  -matter  drop,  I  beg  of  yon. 

LE  MISANTHROPE,  Act  I  ,  Sc.  ii. 

VOL.  I.,  Page  71 


SobkbHI]         the  misanthrope  71 

Alceste, 
Faith!     my  grand  monsieur,    I  speak  as  I 
choose. 

Philinte,  placing  himself  between  them. 
Messieurs,  hey!  messieurs;  this  is  going  too 
far.     Let  the  matter  drop,   I  beg  of  you. 

Oronte. 

Yes,  I  am  wrong,  I  own  it,  and  I  leave  the 

house.     I  am  your  valet^  monsieur,  and  with 

all  my  heart. 

Alceste. 

And  I  your  humble  servant. 


SCENE  THIRD 
Philinte,  Alceste 

Philinte. 
There!  now  you  see.     For  being  too  sincere 
you  have  a  vexing  quarrel  on  your  hands.     I 
saw  at  once  that  Oronte  wanted  flattery. 

Alceste. 
Don't  talk  of  him. 

Philinte. 
But— 


72  THE  MISANTHROPE  [Act  I 

Alceste. 
Ko  more  society  for  me. 

Philinte. 
Oh!  this  is  too  — 

Alcestk. 


Leave  me! 
If  I  — 
Not  a  word. 
But  — 


Philinte. 

Al;CESTE. 

Philinte. 


Alceste. 
I  will  hear  nothing. 

Philinte. 
But  — 

Alceste. 
Again! 

Philinte. 

This  is  an  outrage  — 

Alceste. 
Ha!  damn  it!  'tis  too  much.     Don't  follow 

me. 

Philinte. 

You  are  jesting;  I  will  not  leave  you. 
end  of  act  fibst. 


CeLIMENE.       Then  do  you  hold  me  guilty 
men  love  me? 

LE  MISANTHROPE,  Act  II.,  Sc.  i. 
VOL.  I.,  Page  73 


ScenbIJ  the  misanthrope  73 


act  Sec0ttl> 


SCENE  FIRST 

AlCESTB,   CilLIMiiNB 
AliCESTE. 

JVlADAME,  will  you  allow  me  to  speak 
frankly  ?  I  am  not  contented  with  your  ways 
of  action;  they  stir  such  bitterness  within  my 
breast  I  feel  'twere  better  we  should  break 
apart.  Yes,  to  speak  otherwise  would  be  de- 
ceiving you.  Sooner  or  later,  inevitably,  the 
break  must  come.  Were  I  to  pledge  you  to 
the  contrary  a  thousand  times,  I  should  be 
unable  to  keep  my  promise. 

CiLIMiNE. 

Is  it  to  quarrel  with  me  that  you  have  wished 
to  bring  me  home  ? 

Alceste. 

Quarrel,  no.  But  your  disposition  is,  madame, 
to  give  to  each  new-comer  access  to  your  soul ; 
you  allow  too  many  lovers  to  beset  you,  and  my 
heart  cannot  adapt  itself  to  that. 


74  THE  MISANTHROPE  [Act  H 

CiLIM^NE. 

Then,  do  you  hold  me  guilty  because  men 
love  me  1  How  can  I  help  it  if  they  think  me 
lovable?  And  when  they  take  such  pleasant 
pains  to  see  me,  am  I  to  take  a  stick  and 
drive  them  forth? 

Alceste. 

No,  it  is  not  a  stick  you  need,  madame,  but 
a  heart  less  facile  and  less  tender  to  their 
wishes.  I  know  your  charms  attend  you 
wheresoe'er  you  go;  but  your  welcome  holds 
in  bonds  the  admirers  whom  your  eyes  attract ; 
its  sweetness,  offered  to  all  who  pay  you 
homage,  completes  the  work  your  charms  began. 
The  smiling  hope  you  grant  them  fastens  their 
assiduities  upon  you;  but  if  you  made  your 
kindness  less  inclusive  this  mob  of  lovers  would 
be  put  to  flight.  Tell  me,  at  least,  why 
Clitandre  has  the  luck  to  please  you?  On 
what  foundation  of  worth  or  splendid  virtue  do 
you  base  the  regard  with  which  you  honor 
him  1  Is  it.  the  inordinate  length  of  his  little- 
finger  nail  that  wins  him  the  esteem  you  are 
seen  to  give  him?  Have  you  succumbed,  with 
all  the  fashionable  world,  to  j  the  dazzling  merit 
of   that   blond  periwig?     Are  the   fine    ruffles 


Scene  I]  THE  MISANTHKOPE  76 

at  his  knees  the  reasons  that  you  like  him? 
those  knots  of  ribbon,  have  they  charmed 
you?  Is  it  the  allurement  of  his  mighty 
breeches  which  wins  your  soul  to  making  him 
your  slave?  Or  his  manner  of  laughing,  his 
falsetto  voice,  have  they  discovered  the  secret 
power  of  touching  you? 

How  unjustly  you  take  umbrage  at  Clitandre! 
You  know  the  reason  why  I  treat  him  kindly ; 
he  has  promised  to  interest  all  his  friends  in 
this  lawsuit  I  have  upon  my  hands. 

Alceste. 
Lose  your  suit  bravely,    madame,  and  curry 
no  favor  with  a  rival  I  dislike. 

Celimene. 
But  you  are  growing  jealous  of  the  universe ! 

Alceste. 
Because  you  welcome  the  whole  imiverse  too 

well. 

Celimene. 

That  very  thing  should  soothe  your  nettled 

soul ;  my  favors,  as  you  see,  are  shed  on  all ;  if 

one   alone   received   them  you  would  have  far 

more  cause  to  take  offence. 


76  THE  MISANTHROPE  [Act  H 

Alcbste. 

But  I,  whom  you  reproach  for  too  much 
jealousy,  what  favors  have  I  more  then  they, 
if  I  may  ask? 

C^LIMiNE. 

The  happiness  of  knowing  you  are  loved. 

Alceste. 
How  can  my  tortured  heart  believe  it  ? 

C]6limI;ne. 

I  think  that  having  taken  pains  to  tell  you  so, 
such  an  admission  ought  to  satisfy  you. 

Alceste. 

But  what  assurance  have  I  that  you  are  not, 
even  now,  saying  the  same  to  others? 

CiLIMilNE. 

Certainly,  for  a  lover,  your  gallant  speeches 
are  too  pretty ;  you  treat  me  with  such  graceful 
courtesy !  Well,  to  remove  that  anxious  question 
from  your  mind,  I  here  unsay  all  that  I  said; 
make  yourself  easy;  nothing  can  now  deceive 
you  but  yourself. 


ScbnkI]        the  misanthrope  77 

Alceste. 
Good  God !  why  must  I  love  you  1  If  I 
could  snatch  my  heart  out  of  your  hands  I  would 
bless  heaven  for  such  rare  luck !  I  do  not  deny 
that  I  have  striven  with  all  my  strength  to 
tear  this  terrible  attachment  from  my  soul ;  but 
every  effort  fails;  it  must  be  for  my  sins  I 
love  you  so ! 

C^LIMilfE. 

Your  passion  for  me  is  indeed  unequalled! 

Alceste. 
Yes,  in  that  I  can  defy  the  world.     My  love 
is  not  to  be  conceived  of ;  and  no  one,  madame, 
has  ever  loved  as  I  do. 

C:^LiMi;NE. 

Your  method  of  doing  so  is  truly  novel;  it 
seems  you  love  a  woman  that  you  may  quarrel 
with  her;  your  ardor  blazes  forth  in  angry 
words;  and  sure  no  love  was  ever  yet  so 
scolding. 

Alceste. 

It  rests  with  you  to  make  that  anger  pass. 
For  God's  sake,  madame,  let  us  cut  short  these 
bickerings,  speak  heart  to  heart  and  put  a 
stop  — 


78  THE  MISANTHROPE  [Act  II 

SCENE  SECOND 
C^LiMiiKE,  Alceste,  Basqub 

Celim:^ne. 
What  is  it? 

Basque. 

Acaste  is  here. 

C£LiMi;srE. 
Well,  show  him  up. 


SCENE   THIRD 
CiiLiMiyE,  Alceste 

Alceste. 
What !  am  I  never  to  have  you  to   myself  1 
Why  are  you  so  ready  to   receive   the   world? 
Can  you  not  endure  for  a  single  moment  of  your 
day  to  deny  yourself  to  visitors  ? 

Celimene. 
Do  you  wish  him  to  quarrel  with  me  ? 

Alceste. 
You  show  him  a  deference  that  I  do  not  like. 

Celimene. 
He  is   a   man  who  would   never  forgive  me 
if  he  saw  that  I  considered  him  intrusive. 


ScbnbIV]        the  misanthrope  79 

Alceste. 
Is  that  a  reason  for  disturbing  yourself  ? 

C^LIMiNE. 

Heavens,  yes!  good-will  is  of  value  among 
our  fellows.  He  belongs  to  a  set  who,  I 
scarcely  know  why,  have  acquired  at  court  a 
right  to  be  heard.  They  manage  to  obtain  an 
entrance  everywhere;  and  though,  'tis  true, 
they  may  not  serve  us,  they  are  able  to  do  us 
a  vast  deal  of  harm.  Therefore,  no  matter 
what  support  one  has  elsewhere,  we  ought 
never  to  quarrel  with  such  babbling  persons. 

Alceste. 
In   short,    whatever   happens    and    whoever 
comes,    you   find   good   reasons   to  see   all   the 
world;  and  these  precautions  about   your   law- 
suit— 


SCENE  FOURTH 

AlCBSTE,   CELIMillTE,  BaSQUB 

Basque. 
Clitandre  is  also  here,  madame. 

Alceste. 
Precisely !    {Moves  as  if  to  go.) 


80  THE  MISANTHROPE  [Act  H 

C:fiLIMiNE. 

Where  are  you  going  1 

Alceste. 


C^LIMiNE. 

Alceste. 

C^LIMiNE. 

Alceste. 

C^LIMiiirB!. 


To  leave  you. 

Stay. 

Pray  why  1 

Stay. 

No,  I  cannot. 

I  wish  it. 

Alceste. 

These  conversations  simply  annoy  me;   it  is 
asking  too  much  to  oblige  me  to  hear  them. 

C6LIMi;NE. 

I  wish  it,  I  choose  it. 

Alceste. 
No,  it  is  impossible. 

C^LIMilNE. 

Very  good,   go;   leave  the  house;   you  may 
do   as  you  choose. 


Scene  V]         THE  MISANTHROPE  81 

SCENE  FIFTH 

"khUJurs,  Philinte,  Acaste,  Clitandrb,  Alcbstb, 
CiiLiMtNE,  Basque 

£liante  to  CelimIine. 
The  two  marquises  are  coming  up.     Has  any- 
one announced  them  ? 

Yes.     (To  Basque)  Place  chairs  for  all.     (To 
Alceste)  What!  you  did  not  go? 

Alceste, 
No;  for  I  wish,  madam e,  to  make  you  speak 
your  mind,  either  for  them  or  else  for  me. 

CiLIMilfE. 

Hush,  be  silent. 

Alceste. 
To-day  you  shall  explain  yourself. 

CfLIMiaiE. 

You  have  lost  your  senses. 

Alceste. 
Not  at  all.     You  shall  declare  yourself — 

CiLIM^NE. 

Ah! 

6 


82  THE  MISANTHROPE  [Act  H 

Alceste. 
Take  one  side  or  the  other. 

CelimIine. 
You  are  jesting,  surely, 

Alceste. 
No ;  you  must  choose.     I  have  had  too  much 
patience. 

Clitandrb. 
Ah!    madame,  I  am  just  from  the  Louvre, 
where   Cleonte,    at   the   levee,    was  supremely 
absurd.     Has  he  no  friend  who  would  with  chari- 
table advice  enlighten  him  as  to  his  manners  f 

CiLIMilNE. 

He  is  indeed  a  bungler  in  society;  he  makes 
himself  conspicuous  wherever  he  may  be;  and 
when  one  sees  him  after  a  slight  interval  he 
seems  to  be  more  ridiculous  than  ever. 

ACASTE. 

Talk  of  ridiculous  people  !  i'  faith,  I  've  just 
been  undergoing  one  of  the  most  tiresome,— 
Damon,  the  moralizer,  who,  if  you  '11  believe 
me,  kept  me  one  whole  hour  out  of  my  chair, 
standing  in  the  hot  sun. 


Scene  V]         THE  MISANTHROPE  83 

Celimene. 
Yes,   he 's  a  wonderful  talker,   who  has  the 
art  of  teUing  you  nothing  in  a  great  harangue. 
There  's  never  any  point  to  what  he  says ;    't  is 
only  noise  to  which  we  listen. 

Eliante,  to  Philinte. 
This  beginning  is  cheerful;  the  conversation 
is  starting  at  good  speed  against  our  neighbors. 

Clitandre. 
But  there 's  Timante,  madame ;  he  is  rather 
a  good  fellow. 

C:^LIMiNE. 

Ah !  he 's  a  man  of  mystery  from  head  to 
foot;  he  flings  you,  as  he  passes,  a  haggard 
glance,  because,  without  a  thing  to  do,  he  is 
always  busy.  His  speeches  are  too  full  of 
flourishes;  he  pesters  one  to  death  by  dint  of 
mannerism.  He  always  has  some  secret  to 
whisper  in  one's  ear,  breaking  up  a  conversa- 
tion,—  and  the  secret  is  invariably  nothing. 
Out  of  the  merest  trifle  he  makes  a  mystery; 
and  even  his  good-byes,  he  whispers  them. 

ACASTK. 

And  G^ralde,  madame? 


84  THE  MISANTHROPE  [ActH 

Oh!  that  wearisome  chatterer!  when  will 
he  cease  to  play  the  grand  seigneur  ?  He 
mingles  only  with  the  shining  lights,  and  quotes 
his  dukes,  his  princes  and  princesses.  The 
quality  infatuates  him;  and  all  his  talk  is  now 
of  horses,  equipages,  dogs.  He  calls  the  person- 
ages of  highest  rank  hy  their  first  names;  the 
plain  word  "  monsieur  "  is  forgotten  by  him. 

Clitandre. 
They  say  he   is  on   the  closest  terms  with 
B^lise. 

C^LIMiNE. 

That  poor  stupid  woman!  oh,  what  dry  inter- 
course! I  suffer  martyrdom  when  she  comes 
to  see  me;  I  perspire  with  the  effort  to  find 
something  to  say ;  the  obtuseness  of  her  expres- 
sion kills  the  words  on  my  lips.  In  vain  I 
assault  her  stupid  silence  with  all  the  common- 
places I  can  call  to  my  assistance,  —  fine  weather, 
rain,  heat,  cold.  But  those  are  topics  that  are 
soon  exhausted,  and  then  her  visit,  always  intol- 
erable, drags  its  fearful  length  along.  In  vain 
I  look  to  see  what  time  it  is;  I  yawn  a  score 
of  times ;  she  does  not  budge  more  than  a  log 
of  wood. 


ScbnhV]       the  misanthrope  85 

ACASTE. 

What  do  you  think  of  Adraste  ? 

CiLIM^NE. 

Ah!  what  excessive  pride!  He  is  a  man 
puffed  up  with  admiration  of  himself.  His 
sense  of  his  deserts  is  never  satisfied  at  court,  and 
so  he  rails  against  the  court  proceedings  daily. 
There  's  never  an  ofl&ce,  post,  or  privilege  given 
but  what  he  thinks  he  's  treated  with  injustice. 

Clitandbe. 
But  that  young  Cleon,    at  whose  house  all 
our  best  people  now  are  visiting;  what  do  you 
say  of  him  ? 

CiLIMENE. 

Why,  that  he  makes  his  cook  his  merit,  and 
that  the  world  visits  his  dinners  and  not  him. 

i^LIANTE. 

But  he  takes  care  that  all  the  choicest  things 
are  served  there. 

C^LIM^JNE. 

Yes;  but  I  wish  he  would  not  serve  him- 
self; his  silly  person  is  a  horrid  dish  which 
spoils,  to  my  taste,  all  the  feasts  he  gives. 

Philinte. 

The  world  at  any  rate  thinks  highly  of  his 
uncle,  Damis ;  what  do  you  say  of  him,  madame  1 


86  THE  MISANTHROPE  [Act  II 

CiLIMiNE. 

He  is  a  friend  of  mine. 

Philinte. 

I  think  him  an  honest  man,  and  he  looks  a 

wise  one. 

Celimexe. 

Yes,  but  he  pretends  to  too  much  mind;  it 
irritates  me.  He  is  always  straining;  in  what 
he  says  you  see  him  in  travail  to  produce  hons 
mots.  Since  he  took  it  into  his  head  to  be 
so  clever,  nothing  pleases  his  taste,  he  is  too 
fastidious.  He  sees  defects  in  everything  that 's 
written ;  he  thinks  a  wit  should  never  praise ;  he 
counts  it  learned  to  find  fault;  fools  only  can 
admire  and  laugh.  By  approving  nothing  in 
the  works  of  the  day,  he  fancies  he  exalts  him- 
self above  his  fellows.  Even  in  conversation  he 
finds  something  to  reprove;  the  topics  are  so 
low  he  will  not  condescend  to  them.  He  stands, 
arms  folded,  and,  from  the  pinnacle  of  his  mind, 
looks  down  in  pity  upon  what  we  say. 

ACASTE. 

God  bless  me !  that 's  his  veritable  portrait. 

Clit ANDRE,  to  Celimme. 
For   painting  people    to   the   life,    you    are 
incomparable. 


Scene  V]         THE  MISANTHROPE  87 

• 

Alceste. 

On,  on,  set  on  each  other,  my  good  friends 
at  court!  Spare  none,  let  each  man  have  his 
turn.  And  yet,  if  one  of  them  appears  in  sight 
you  haste  to  meet  him,  give  him  your  hand, 
offer  him  flattering  kisses,  and  swear  by  all 
the  oaths  to  be  his  servant. 

Clitandre. 

Why  find  fault  with  us  ?     If  what  was  said 

displeases    you,     address    your    reproaches    to 

madame. 

Alceste. 

No,   by  heaven!  it  is  to  you  I  make  them; 

your  compliant  laughter  incites  her  wit  to  these 

ill-natured  speeches.     Her  satire  feeds  upon  the 

wicked  incense  of  your  flattery ;   and  if  she  did 

not   see  herself   applauded  her  heart  would  be 

less  prone  to  ridicule.     'T  is  thus  that  flatterers 

are  guilty  of  the  vices  which  corrupt  society. 

Philinte. 

But  why  do  you  take  such  interest  in  the 
persons  thus  condemned,  since  you  yourself 
would  blame  in  them  the  selfsame  faults. 

C^LIMiNE. 

Is  it  not  monsieur's  nature  to  contradict? 
Why    expect    him   to   agree   with   the   general 


88  THE  MISANTPIROPE  [Act  II 

voice,  or  to  refrain  from  exhibiting,  wherever 
he  may  be,  the  cavilling  spirit  he  received 
from  heaven?  The  opinion  of  others  is  never 
agreeable  to  him.  He  sets  up  his  own,  be- 
lieving he  would  be  thought  a  common  man  if 
it  were  seen  to  agree  with  that  of  the  world. 
The  pleasure  of  contradicting  has  such  charms 
for  his  soul  that  he  sometimes,  and  not  seldom, 
takes  arms  against  himself,  and  wages  war 
upon  his  own  real  feelings  when  he  hears  them 
uttered  by  the  lips  of  others. 

Alcbstb. 

The  laugh  is  on  your  side,  madame,  and 
there 's  nothing  to  be  said.  You  can  wing 
your  shafts  of  satire  on  me  as  you  please. 

Philinte. 

But  is  it  not  true  that  your  mind  antagonizes 
whatever  is  said,  and  is  unable,  from  a  bitter- 
ness you  avow  yourself,  to  endure  that  others 
should  either  blame  or  praise? 

Alceste. 

Yes ;  for  the  reason  that  men  are  never  right. 
My  bitterness  is  just;  I  find  them,  wherever 
they  may  be ,  offensive  flatterers  or  rash  censors. 


Scene  V]  THE  MISANTHKOPE  89 

CELIMiNE. 

But  — 

Alceste. 

No,  madame,  no ;  if  I  die  for  it,  I  must  say 

that  you  find  pleasure  in  things  I  cannot  bear; 

and  these  friends  here  do  wrong  to  foster  in 

your  soul  this  great  indulgence  of  defects  that 

injure  it. 

Clitandre. 

For  myself  I  shall  say  nothing;   but  as  for 

madame,    I   must  openly   declare   that   I  have 

hitherto  believed  her  faultless. 

ACASTE. 

I  see  the  graces  and  the  attractions  that 
heaven  has  granted  her;  but  her  defects  have 
never,  I  must  say,  struck  my  eye. 

Alceste. 
They  all  strike  mine;  and  far  from  over- 
looking them,  I  take  pains,  as  she  well  knows, 
to  bring  them  to  her  knowledge.  The  more  we 
love  our  friends,  the  less  we  flatter  them ;  it  is 
by  excusing  nothing  that  pure  love  shows  itself. 
For  my  part,  I  would  banish  those  unworthy 
lovers  who  slavishly  submit  to  all  my  sentiments, 
and  by  their  weak  compliance  swing  incense  to 
my  follies. 


90  THE  MISANTHROPE  [Act  H 

CELIMiXE. 

In  short,  if  hearts  should  look  at  things  in 
your  way,  they  must,  in  order  to  love  truly, 
renounce  all  sweetness,  and  find  the  crown  of 
perfect  love  in  heaping  insults  on  the  object 
of  it. 

l^LIANTE. 

Love,  as  a  rule,  is  little  ruled  by  laws.  All 
lovers,  as  we  know,  boast  of  their  choice. 
True  passion  does  not  see  that  which  is  blam- 
able;  the  one  beloved  is  always  lovable.  De- 
fects love  thinks  perfections,  and  gives  them 
pleasant  names.  The  pallid  one  is  comparable 
to  the  jasmine  in  her  whiteness;  the  swarthy 
skin  becomes  a  rich  brunette;  thinness  gives 
freedom  of  motion  and  a  slender  waist;  the 
portly  dame  is  full  of  majesty ;  she  who  neglects 
her  person  and  takes  no  pains  to  charm  is 
called  a  careless  beauty;  the  giantess  becomes 
a  goddess ;  the  dwarf,  an  epitome  of  all  heaven's 
marvels;  the  haughty  spirit  deserves  a  crown; 
the  tricky  mind  has  wit ;  the  fool  is  kind ;  the 
chatterer,  good-humored;  the  silent  one  main- 
tains her  virtuous  modesty.  'T  is  thus  a  lover 
whose  passion  is  supreme  loves  even  the  defects 
of  her  he  worships. 


Scene  VJ  THE  MISANTHROPE  91 

Alcestb. 
And  I  maintain,  yes  I  — 

Come,  let  us  end  this  talk,  and  take  a  turn  or 
two  about  the  gallery.  What!  are  you  going, 
gentlemen  ? 

Clitandbe  and  Acastb. 

Oh,  no,  madame. 

Alcestb. 
The  fear  of  their  departure  weighs  on  your 
soul.      Gentlemen,     leave    when    you    please; 
but   I  warn  you,   I   shall  not   go  till  you   are 
gone. 

Acastb. 

Unless   my  presence  importunes  madame,  I 

can   stay  here   all   day,    for   nothing   calls   me 

hence. 

Clitandre. 

As  for  me,    provided  I  return  for  the  king's 

covtcher^  I  have  no  other  matters  to  attend  to. 

C^LiM^NE,  to  Alceste. 
You  are  joking,  I  am  sure. 

Alcestb. 
No,  not  in  any  sense.     We  shall  see  now  if 
it  is  I  of  whom  you  are  anxious  to  be  rid. 


92  THE  MISANTHROPE  [Act  H 

SCENE  SIXTH 

AlCBSTE,   CilLIMtNB,   6liANTE,  AcASTE,  CUTAJiTDEB, 

Fhilinte,  Basque 

Basque,  to  Alceste. 

Monsieur,  a  man  is  below  who  wishes  to  see 

you,    he    says,    on   business   which   cannot  be 

delayed. 

Alceste. 

Tell  him  I  know  of  no  such  urgent  business. 

Basque. 
He  wears  a  jacket  with  great  pleated  basques, 
and  gold  upon  it. 

CiLiMiNE,  to  Alceste. 
Go,  see  who  it  is;  or  else,   have  him  shown 
up. 


SCENE   SEVENTH 

Alceste,  C:feLiMi:NE,  I^liante,  Acastb,  Clitandre, 
Philintb,  a  Soldieb  of  the  Marshals'  Guard 

Alceste,  advancing  to  meet  him. 

Come    in,    monsieur.      What    do  you   want 

with  me? 

Soldieb. 

Monsieur,  I  have  two  words  to  say  to  you. 


ScBNBVnj       THE  MISANTHROPE  93 

Alceste. 

You  can   speak  out;   I  am  prepared  to  hear 

you. 

Soldier. 

The  Marshals,  -whom  I  serve,  monsieur,  bid 
you  come  to  them  at  once.* 

Alceste. 
Me?  bid  me,  monsieur? 

Soldier. 
Yes,  you. 

Alceste. 
But  why  ? 

Philinte,  to  Alceste. 
Because   of    that    ridiculous   affair    between 
yourself  and  Oronte. 

Celim^ne,  to  Philinte. 

What  affair? 

Philinte. 

Oronte  and  he  had  words  about  some  verses 

he  would  not  admire;   and  the  Marshals  wish 

to  nip  the  matter  in  the  bud. 

Alceste. 
I  will  not  have  the  base  compliance  — 

1  The  court  of  the  Marshals  of  France  took  cognizance 
of  quarrels  and  affairs  of  honor  among  gentlemen. 


94  THE  MISANTHROPE  [Act  H 

Philinte. 

But  you  must  obey  the  order;  come,  let  us 

go- 

Alceste. 

What  sort  of   terms  do  they  desire  to  make 

between  us?     Will  the   Marshals  order   me  to 

think  the  verses  that  caused  our  quarrel  good  ? 

I  shall  not  unsay  what  I  have  said,  —  I  think 

them  bad. 

Philinte. 

But  a"gentler  tone  — 

Alceste. 

I   shall  not  yield   one   inch;    the   lines  are 

execrable. 

Philinte. 

You  ought  to  show  a  more  compliant  spirit. 

Come,  let  us  go. 

Alceste. 
Yes,  I  will  go ;  but  nothing  can  compel  me  to 
take  back  my  words. 

Philinte. 
Well,  come  and  show  yourself,  at  any  rate. 

Alceste, 
Short  of  an  order  sent  expressly  to  me  by  the 
king,  to  say  those  verses  they  are  making  such 


Scene  VII]      THE  MISANTHROPE  95 

a  fuss  about  are  good,  I  will  maintain  forever 
that  they  are  bad;  and  that  any  man  who  writes 
such  stuff  deserves  to  be  hanged.  ( To  Clitandre 
and  Acaste,  who  are  laughing)  By  heaven ! 
gentleman,  I  did  not  know  I  was  as  witty  as  it 
seems  I  am. 

C^LIMiNE. 

Come,  come,  make  haste  and  go  where  you 
are  summoned, 

Alceste. 

I  go,  madame;  but  I  shall  soon  return  to 
settle,  in  this  room,  the  matter  we  have  been 
discussing. 


END    OF   ACT   SECOND. 


96  THE  MISANTHROPE  [Act  III 


act  mfivti 


SCENE  FIRST 

Clitandre,  Acaste 

Clitandre. 
1  OBSEKVE,  my  dear  marquis,  that  your 
soul  is  contented ;  all  things  make  you  cheerful, 
and  nothing  frets.  Now,  tell  me  in  good  faith, 
do  you  really  believe,  without  self-deception, 
that  you  have  any  sound  reason  for  being  so 
happy? 

Acaste. 

Parbleu!  I  don't  see,  when  I  look  myself 
over,  any  ground  whatever  for  discontent. 
I  have  property,  I  am  young,  I  belong  to  a 
house  which  has  certain  good  reasons  to  call 
itself  noble;  and  I  think,  through  the  rank  to 
which  my  blood  entitles  me,  there  ^  are  very 
few  stations  in  life  that  I  cannot  fill.  As  to 
courage,  of  which,  of  course,  we  ought  to  think 
first,  I  know,  without  vanity,  that  I  am  not 
lacking  there;  I  have  been  seen  by  the  world 
to  carry  on  an  affair  in  a  sufficiently  vigorous 


Scene  I]  THE  MISANTHROPE  97 

and  dashing  manner.  As  for  wit,  there  's  no 
question  but  what  I  have  that,  and  with  it 
enough  good  taste  to  judge  without  study,  and 
to  talk  about  everything.  At  the  theatre,  of 
which  I  am  truly  an  idolater,  I  can  wear  a 
wise  face,  decide  the  fortunes  of  a  play,  and 
lead  the  applause  at  all  the  fine  speeches  which 
merit  hurrahs.  I  'm  sufficiently  active ;  I  've 
a  good  air  and  good  looks,  above  all  fine  teeth, 
and  my  figure  is  slim.  As  to  my  style  of 
dressing,  I  think,  without  vanity,  that  any 
one  would  be  foolish  to  rival  me  there.  My 
position  in  the  world  is  as  good  as  can  be;  the 
fair  sex  adore  me ;  I  stand  well  with  the  king ; 
and,  therefore,  my  dear  marquis,  I  see,  on  all 
sides,  every  reason  to  be  satisfied  with  myself. 

Clitandee. 

Yes.  But  finding  everywhere  so  many  easy 
conquests,  why  do  you  persist  in  offering  useless 
homage  here  1 

ACASTE. 

Useless  ?  Parbleu  f  I  'm  not  of  a  kind  nor 
of  a  temper  to  stand  cold  treatment  from  any 
beauty.  'Tis  only  common  minds  and  ill-bred 
persons  who  burn  persistently  for  frigid  dames, 
or  languish  at  their  feet,  endure  their  rigor, 
7 


9S  THE  MISANTHROPE  [Act  III 

seek  help  from  tears  and  sighs,  and  strive,  by 
the  painstaking  of  a  long-drawn  suit,  to  win 
the  smiles  their  lack  of  merit  forfeits.  Men 
of  my  presence,  marquis,  are  not  made  to  love 
on  credit  and  pay  all  the  costs.  However 
choice  may  he  the  lady's  favors,  I  think,  thank 
God,  my  value  equals  hers;  and  to  do  honor 
to  a  heart  like  mine  is  sure  no  reason  it  should 
cost  her  nothing.  To  put  the  thing  on  equi- 
table grounds,  she  must  at  least  meet  my 
advance  half-way. 

Clitandre. 
So  you  think,   marquis,  you  stand  well  with 
Celim^ne  ? 

ACASTE. 

Marquis,  I  have  some  ground  to  think  so. 

Clitandre. 
Take  my  advice;  get  rid  of  that  idea;  it  is 
an  error.     You  flatter  yourself,  my  friend,  you 
blind  yourself  — 

AcASTE. 

Quite  true ;  I  flatter  and  I  blind  myself. 

Clitandre. 
Why  call  your  happiness  so  perfect,  then? 


Scene  I]  THE  MISANTHROPE  99 

ACASTE. 

I  flatter  myself. 

Clitandre. 
On  what  do  you  foixnd  your  hopes? 

AcASTE. 

I  blind  myselfi 

Clitandre.  ' 

Then  you  have  proofs  to  give  you  certainty  ? 

AcASTE. 

I  tell  you,  I  deceive  myself. 

Clitandre. 
Can  it  be  that  Celimene  has  made  you  secret 
promises  ? 

AcASTE. 

No,  she  rebufi"s  me. 

Clitandre. 
Tell  me  the  truth,  I  beg. 

AcASTE. 

She  does  nothing  but  rebuff  me. 

Clitandre. 
Oh !   cease   this    jesting,   and  let   me   know 
what  liopes  you  really  have. 


100  THE  MISANTHROPE  [Act  UI 

ACASTE. 

I  am  the  luckless,  you  the  lucky  one.  She 
has  so  deep  an  aversion  to  me  that  one  of  these 
days  I  '11  surely  hang  myself. 

Clitandbe. 
Ah  ga !  marquis,  are  you  willing  to  settle 
our  fates  by  agreeing  that,  if  either  of  us  can 
show  some  certain  sign  of  having  won  her 
heart,  the  other  shall  make  way  for  the  fortu- 
nate lover  and  relieve  him  of  a  rival  ? 

AcASTE. 

Parhleu  !  I  like  that  sort  of  talk,  and  will, 
with  all  my  heart,  agree  to  it.  But  hush, 
here  she  comes. 


SCENE  SECOND 

C^LIHiiNE,    ACASTE,     ClITANDBB 
CiLIM^lNE. 

What!  still  here? 

ClitAndkk 
Love  stayed  our  feet. 

Cl^LIMilNE. 

I   have  just  heard   a   carriage  entering  the 
courtyard.     Do  you  know  whose  it  is  ? 

Clitandbe. 


Scene  ni]        THE  MISANTHROPE  101 

SCENE  THIRD 

CiLIMtNB,   ACASTE,    ClITANDBE 

Basque. 
Arsino^,  madame,  is  coming  up  to  see  you. 

C^LIM^NE. 

What  can  that  woman  want  with  me  ? 

Basque. 
^liante  is  below,  and  is  talking  with  her. 

Celimene. 
Something  is  in  her  mind,  or  why  should  she 
come  here  1 

AcASTE. 

She  is  thought  to  be  a  most  consummate  prude, 
and  in  the  ardor  of  her  zeal  — 

CiLIMilNE. 

Yes,  yes,  pure  cant!  At  heart  she  's  of  the 
world;  and  all  her  efforts  aim  at  hooking  on 
to  others,  —  in  which,  however,  she  has  small 
success.  She  cannot  see  without  an  envious 
eye  a  woman  followed  by  a  train  of  suitors; 
and  her  sour  virtue,  overlooked  by  all,  is  ever 
grumbling  that  the  age  is  blind.  She  tries  to 
cover  with  a  veil  of  prudery  the  frightful  soli- 
tude   in    which    she    lives ;  and,    to    save   the 


102  THE  MISANTHROPE  [Act  IH 

honor  of  her  scanty  charms,  she  attributes  sin 
to  powers  that  they  have  not.  And  yet  a 
lover  would  be  most  pleasant  to  my  lady.  She 
even  shows  some  tenderness  for  Alceste;  the 
attentions  that  he  pays  to  me  offend  her;  she 
tries  to  make  it  seem  that  I  have  stolen  them ; 
and  her  jealous  spite,  which  she  can  scarce 
conceal,  is  felt  in  underhanded  ways  on  every 
side.  I  have  never  seen  anything,  I  think,  so 
foolish;  and  with  it  all  she  is  impertinent  to 
the  last  degree.     Therefore  — 


SCENE  FOURTH 
AKSiNot,  CELiMi:NE,  Clitandbe,  Acaste 

C^LIMENE. 

Ah  !  what  fortunate  fate  brings  me  this  visit  ? 
Madame,  in  all  sincerity,  I  was  beginning  to 
feel  most  anxious  for  your  welfare. 

Arsinoe. 
I  have   come,    madame,    to   offer  you   some 
advice,  which  I  feel  I  owe  to  you. 

C^LIM^NE. 

Ah !  how  good  of  you,  and  how  glad  I  am 
to  see  you! 

Clitandre  and  Acaste  go  out  laughing. 


ScbnbV]       the  misanthrope  103 

SCENE  FIFTH 
ARSiNoij,  CelimIine 

Arsinoe. 
The  departure  of  those  gentlemen  is  timely. 

C^LIMENE. 

Shall  we  sit  down  ? 

ARSixoi. 
It  is  not  necessary.  Madame,  friendship 
should,  above  all,  be  shown  in  things  that 
most  affect  our  fellows ;  and  as  there  are  none 
more  vitally  important  than  those  of  honor  and 
decorum,  I  have  come  to  prove  the  friendship 
my  heart  feels  for  you  by  offering  counsel  which 
concerns  your  honor.  Yesterday  I  visited  some 
friends,  of  sterling  virtue.  There  the  conver- 
sation turned  on  you;  unfortunately,  your  con- 
duct and  its  notoriety  were  not  approved.  The 
crowd  of  men  you  suffer  to  approach  you, 
your  coquetry,  and  the  rumors  it  excites,  re- 
ceived more  censure  and  far  harsher  blame  than 
I  could  wish.  You  will  readily  conceive  the 
course  I  took.  I  said  all  that  I  could  in  your 
defence;  excused  you,  firmly,  as  to  your  in- 
tentions, offering  to  vouch  for  your  good  soul. 


104  THE  MISANTHROPE  [Act  HI 

But  —  as  you  know  —  there  are  things  in  life 
that  cannot  be  excused,  however  much  we 
wish  to  do  so,  and  I  found  myself,  at  last, 
constrained  to  admit  that  your  manner  of  liv- 
ing does  certainly  seem  wrong,  and  has  —  to 
the  world  —  an  injurious  appearance;  also  that 
mischievous  tales  are  being  told  of  it,  and  that 
your  conduct  might,  if  you  were  only  willing, 
give  far  less  ground  for  condemnation.  Not 
that  I  think  your  virtue  really  injured  —  God 
forbid  that  I  should  think  so  !  But  the  world 
believes  in  the  mere  shadow  of  sin ;  and  it  is  not 
enough  to  satisfy  our  conscience  only.  Madame, 
I  think  your  mind  too  reasonable  to  take  amiss 
this  useful  counsel,  or  to  attribute  it  to  other 
motives  than  the  hearty  zeal  which  binds 
me  to  your  interests. 

Madame,  I  have  many  thanks  to  render  you ; 
such  counsel  can  but  gratify  me;  and,  far  from 
taking  it  amiss,  I  wish  to  recognize  the  favor 
you  have  done  me  by  instantly  returning  it  with 
other  counsel  which  concerns  your  honor..  As 
you  have  shown  yourself  so  heartily  my  friend 
by  telling  me  the  rumors  people  spread  about 
me,  I  wish  to  follow,  in  my  turn,  so  kind  an 


Scene  V]  THE  MISANTHROPE  105 

example  by  telling  you  what  people  say  of  you. 
The  other  day,  at  a  house  where  I  was  visiting, 
I  met  some  persons  of  high  character,  who, 
speaking  of  a  soul's  true  kindness,  turned  their 
remarks,  madame,  onyou.  Unfortunately,  your 
prudery  and  your  bursts  of  pious  zeal  were  not 
regarded  by  them  as  a  good  example.  This 
affectation  of  a  grave  demeanor;  your  endless 
talks  of  virtue  and  of  honor;  your  frowns  and 
outcries  at  the  shadow  of  indecency  which  one 
ambiguous  word  can  cast  on  innocence ;  the  high 
esteem  you  place  upon  yourself;  the  pitying 
glances  you  bestow  on  others;  your  frequent 
lectures,  your  sour  censure  of  things  that  in 
themselves  are  pure  and  innocent, —  all  this,  if 
I  may  speak  to  you  quite  frankly,  madame,  was 
blamed  with  one  consent.  What  is  the  good, 
they  said,  of  all  this  modesty,  this  virtuous 
exterior,  if  it  belies  the  resti  'Tis  true  she 
says  her  prayers  with  rigid  punctuality,  but 
then  she  beats  her  servants  and  she  does  not 
pay  them;  in  pious  places  she  displays  her  zeal, 
but  she  paints  her  face  in  order  to  seem  hand- 
some ;  she  covers  up  the  nakedness  of  pictures, 
but  has  a  liking  for  realities.  As  for  me, 
madame,  I  took  up  firmly  your  defence  with 
each  and  all ;  assuring  them  that  what  they  said 


106  THE  MISANTHROPE  [Act  HI 

was  slanderous.  But  their  views  clashed  with 
mine;  and  their  conclusion  was  that  you  would 
do  well  to  meddle  less  with  others'  actions  and 
look  more  closely  to  your  own.  They  said  we 
ought  to  look  at  home  a  good  long  time  be- 
fore we  think  of  judging  other  people;  that  an 
exemplary  life  alone  gives  weight  to  our  cor- 
rection of  the  lives  of  others ;  moreover,  that  in 
any  case,  't  is  better  to  remit  that  duty  to  those 
whom  heaven  has  selected  for  it.  Madame,  I 
think  you  are  too  reasonable  to  take  amiss  this 
useful  counsel,  or  to  attribute  it  to  other  motives 
than  the  hearty  zeal  which  binds  me  to  your 
interests. 

Ar8INO]6. 

I  know  that  in  reproving  we  subject  ourselves 
to  much;  but  I  did  not  expect  this  sharp  retort, 
madame;  and  I  see  plainly,  by  its  very  bitter- 
ness, that  my  sincere  advice  has  cut  you  to  the 
heart. 

Celim^ne. 

Quite  the  contrary,  madame;  and  if  the 
world  were  wise  these  mutual  counsels  would  be 
made  the  custom.  Given  in  good  faith,  they 
would  dispel  the  utter  blindness  each  has  for 
himself.  It  rests  with  you  to  carry  on  this 
faithful  office  with  your  past  zeal.     Let  us  take 


Scene  V]  THE  MISANTHEOPE  107 

pains  to  tell  ourselves,  between  ourselves,  just 
what  you  hear  of  me,  and  I  of  you. 

Absino^. 

Ah,  madame,  I  shall  hear  nought  of  you ;  it 
is  of  me  the  most  reproving  things  are  said. 

CfLIMiSTE. 

"^  Madame,  I  think  that  all  things  may  be 
praised  and  blamed;  and  each  award  is  just, 
according  to  age  or  fancy.  There  is  a  season 
for  coquettish  gallantry;  there  is  another,  still 
more  suitable,  for  prudery.  'T  is  wise,  from  pol- 
icy, to  choose  that  style  when  time  has  deadened 
the  glow  of  youth;  it  serves  to  cover  a  morti- 
fying downfall.  I  don't  deny  that  some  day 
I  may  follow  on  your  traces,  for  age  brings 
everything.  But  it  is  still  too  early,  madame, 
as  everybody  knows,  to  be  a  prtide  at  twenty.    ' ' 

Arsino^. 

You  plume  yourself  on  very  slight  advan- 
tages, and  ring  your  age  with  wonderful  eflfect! 
But  an  advantage  that  you  share  with  many  is 
not  so  much  to  boast  of,  after  all.  I  know  not 
why  your  temper  drives  you,  madame,  thus  to 
provoke  me  in  so  strange  a  way. 


108  THE  MISANTHROPE  [Act  III 

And  I,  madaxne,  I  really  know  not  why  you 
constantly  declaim  against  me  everywhere. 
Must  I  be  punished  for  your  disappointments  1 
Is  it  my  fault  that  no  one  courts  you  ?  What 
can  I  do  if  men  will  love  me,  and  will  persist  in 
offering  vows  your  heart  may  wish  to  take  away 
from  me  ?  The  field  is  open  to  you.  I  do  not 
hinder  any  of  your  charms  from  winning  lovers. 

Absino^. 

Alas!  and  do  you  really  think  the  number  of 
your  lovers,  of  which  you  seem  so  vain,  can 
trouble  others;  or  that'we  do  not  find  it  easy 
to  appraise  the  price  at  which  you  gain  them  ? 
Do  you  think  to  persuade  us  —  who  see  how 
things  are  going  —  that  your  good  qualities 
alone  attract  your  followers ;  or  that  they  burn 
for  you  with  honest  love,  and  court  you  solely 
for  your  virtue?  The  world  is  not  a  dupe;  it 
is  not  blinded  by  such  vain  pretences.  Many  a 
woman  fitted  to  inspire  the  tenderest  sentiments 
does  not  have  lovers ;  from  that  the  argument  is 
plain  :  their  hearts  cannot  be  won  without  great 
effort,  for  none  may  woo  us  for  our  beauty  only, 
but  all  must  buy  the  right  of  courting  us. 
Therefore  you  need  not  swell  with  pride  for  such 


Scene  V]  THE  MISANTHROPE  109 

poor  sparkles  of  a  trivial  victory.  Correct  the 
self-conceit  of  your  attractions,  and  cease  to 
treat  us  superciliously.  If  our  eyes  envied  the 
conquests  yours  obtain,  methinks  we  all  could 
do  as  you  do,  —  cease  to  conduct  ourselves  with 
self-respect,  and  let  you  see  that  others  can 
have  suitors  when  they  please. 

CelimAne. 

Then  have  them,  madame;  let  me  see  it 
done;  with  this  rare  secret  make  the  effort 
to  please,  and  — 

AKSINOi. 

Madame,  let  us  end  this  conference ;  it  irri- 
tates too  much  your  soul  and  mine.  I  should 
already  have  taken  leave  of  you,  were  I  not 
forced  to  wait  here  for  my  carriage. 

CelimIine. 

Pray  stay  as  long  as  suits  you,  madame; 
nothing  need  hasten  your  departure.  But,  not 
to  weary  you  with  my  presence,  I  '11  give  you 
better  company;  and  monsieur  here,  whom 
chance  has  brought  so  opportunely,  shall  fill 
my  place  and  entertain  you  better. 


no  THE  MISAi^THROPE  [Act  IH 

SCENE  SIXTH 
Alceste,  Celim±ne,  Absino:^ 

CELIMiafE. 

Alceste,  I  have  a  letter  T  must  write ;  it  can- 
not be  delayed  without  some  blame  to  me. 
Stay  with  madame  ;  she  will  have  the  kindness, 
I  am  sure,  to  excuse  my  incivility. 


SCENE  SEVENTH 

Alceste,  Absinob 

Aksino]e. 

You  see  she  wishes  me  to  entertain  you  until 
my  carriage  comes ;  and  her  civility  could  pro- 
vide me  with  nothing  more  truly  charming  than 
this  interview.  Persons  of  lofty  merit  draw 
forth  the  esteem  and  love  of  every  one;  and 
yours,  undoubtedly,  has  secret  charms  which 
lead  my  heart  to  enter  all  your  interests.  I 
wish  the  court,  with  more  propitious  eyes, 
would  do  full  justice  to  your  claims.  You 
have  much  cause  for  indignation.  I  am  angry 
almost  daily  to  see  that  nothing  has  been  done 
for  you. 


ScbnbVU]      the  misanthrope  HI 

Alceste. 
For  me,  madame?  On  what  pretensions 
should  I  base  a  claim?  What  service  to  the 
State  have  I  been  known  to  render?  What 
have  I  done,  if  you  please,  so  brilliant  in  itself 
that  I  have  cause  to  grumble  because  the  court 
does  nothing  in  return  for  it? 

ABSINOi. 

It  is  not  every  one  on  whom  our  court  casts  a 
propitious  eye  who  has  done  good  service  to  the 
State.  Opportunity  is  needed  as  well  as  power. 
The  great  deserts  that  all  men  see  in  you 
ought  — 

Alceste. 

For  heaven's  sake,  madame,  say  nothing  of 
my  deserts.  Why  do  you  wish  the  court  to 
trouble  ^itself  about  them  ?  Its  cares  would  be 
too  many  and  its  hands  too  full  if  it  unearthed 
the  merits  of  everybody. 

Aksino£. 
A  dazzling  merit  will  unearth  itself;  and 
yours  is  thought  extreme  on  every  side.  I 
must  tell  you  now  that  yesterday,  in  two  dis- 
tinguished houses,  you  were  much  praised  by 
persons  of  great  weight. 


112  THE  MISANTHROPE  [Act  IH 

Alceste. 
Hey!  madame,  'tis  ijowadays  the  fashion  to 
laud  every  one.  That  is  the  way  by  which 
the  present  century  levels  everything.  All  are 
of  equal  merit;  it  is  no  longer  an  honor  to 
be  praised.  Why!  praises  are  stuffed  down 
your  throat,  flung  at  your  head ;  and  there 's 
my  valet's  name  ip.  the  gazette! 

Absino]^. 
For  my  part,  I  have  wished  you  to  obtain 
some  place  at  court  in  which  to  show  your  merit 
to  the  world.  If  only  you  consented,  we  would 
intrigue  a  little,  and,  to  oblige  you,  start  a  few 
machines.  I  myseK  have  men  in  hand  whom 
I  could  use,  and  they  would  make  the  way 
quite  smooth  for  you. 

Alceste. 
Madame,  what  would  you  have  me  do  at 
court  ?  The  disposition  that  I  feel  within  me 
requires  rather  that  I  keep  away  from  it. 
Heaven  did  not  make  me,  when  it  gave  me 
breath,  with  a  soul  congenial  to  the  courtly 
atmosphere.  I  am  conscious  that  I  do  not  possess 
the  necessary  virtues  to  succeed  there  and  do 
my  duty.  Frankness  and  sincerity  are  my 
chief  talents;   and  he  who  does  not  have  the 


Scene  Vn]      THE  MISANTHROPE  113 

gift  of  hiding  what  he  thinks,  had  better  make 
short  stay  in  courtly  regions.  Outside  the 
court,  of  course  we  cannot  have  the  strong 
support  or  the  titles  of  honor  it  gives  nowa- 
days. But,  in  losing  those  advantages,  we  are 
spared  the  vexatious  trifling  of  silly  persons; 
we  need  not  suffer  merciless  rebuflfs,  nor  be 
compelled  to  praise  the  verse  of  Monsieur  Such- 
a-one,  nor  shower  incense  on  Madame  This- 
or-that,    nor    undergo   the   brains   of    seedling 

marquises. 

Absino^. 

Then  we  will  drop,  since  you  desire  it,  this 
matter  of  the  court ;  but  my  heart  is  forced  to 
pity  you  in  your  love;  and,  if  I  may  disclose 
my  thoughts  upon  it,  I  wish  with  all  my 
soul  't  were  better  placed.  Indeed  you  have 
deserved  a  gentler  fate,  for  she  who  charms  you 
is  unworthy  of  you. 

Alceste. 
In  saying   that,    I   beg   you    to    remember, 
madame,  this  lady  is  your  friend. 

Arsino^. 

Yes.     But  my  conscience  is  too  wounded  to 

bear  a  moment  longer  the  wrong  she  does  you. 

The  state  in  which  I  see  you  grieves  my  soul 

8 


114  THE  MISANTHROPE  [Act  HI 

too  much ;  I  am  forced  to  warn  you  she  betrays 
your  love. 

Alceste. 

You  show  me  thus,  madame,  a  tender  impulse ; 
such  warnings  would  oblige  a  lover. 

Aksinoe. 

Yes,  though  she  be  my  friend,  she  is,  and 
I  dare  say  it,  unworthy  to  enthrall  a  good 
man's  heart;  hers  has  for  you  a  counterfeited 
tenderness. 

Alceste. 

It  may  be  so,  madame;  we  cannot  see  the 
hearts  of  others.  But  your  charity  might  well 
have  paused  before  you  cast  this  painful  thought 
in  mine. 

Arsino£. 

Oh!  if  you  do  not  wish  to  be  undeceived, 
there  is  no  need  to  tell  you  anything;  that, 
indeed,  is  easy. 

Alceste. 

No,  it  can  not  end  so.  This  is  a  subject  on 
which,  no  matter  what  is  learned,  doubts  are 
more  cruel  than  the  worst  of  truths.  For  my 
part,  I  would  rather  nothing  were  told  me 
unless  it  could  be  shown  with  certainty. 


Scene  VII]        THE  MISANTHROPE  115 

AKSINOi. 

That  is  enough.  Upon  this  subject  you  shall 
have  full  light.  Yes,  I  will  let  you  trust  your 
own  eyes  only.  Give  me  your  hand  to  take  me 
home.  There  I  will  show  you  positive  proof 
of  the  unfaithful  heart  of  lier  you  love.  And, 
if  for  other  eyes  your  own  could  long,  it  may  be 
you  would  find  some  there  to  comfort  you. 


END    OF   ACT   THIRD. 


116  THE  MISANTHROPE  [Act  IV 

Set  Jourtfj 

— »— 
SCENE  FIRST 

^LIANTE,    PhILINTE 

Philinte. 

JNJO,  a  soul  so  hard  to  manage  was  never  seen; 
no  reconciliation  was  ever  yet  so  troublesome  to 
bring  about.  In  vain  they  tried  in  every  way 
to  move  him ;  out  of  his  fixed  opinion  he  would 
not  be  dragged.  Never  did  a  more  fantastic 
quarrel,  I  am  sure,  engage  the  wisdom  of  the 
Marshals.  "  No,  gentlemen, "  he  said, "  I  shall 
not  retract.  On  every  other  matter  I  will 
agree  with  him,  but  not  on  this.  Why  is  he 
affronted  1  Of  what  does  he  complain  ?  Is  his 
fame  injured  because  he  cannot  write  poems? 
What  does  my  opinion,  which  he  takes  so  ill,  sig- 
nify to  him  ?  A  man  can  be  a  gentleman  and 
make  bad  verses.  Such  matters  do  not  touch 
his  honor,  and  I  hold  him  to  be  a  gallant  man 
in  every  other  way ;  a  man  of  quality,  of  courage, 
deserving  of  anything  you  please,  but  —  a  bad 
writer.     I  will  praise,   if  you  wish  it,   his  way 


ScbnbI]  the  misanthrope  117 

of  living,  of  spending  money,  his  skill  on  horse- 
back, in  fencing,  dancing  ]  but  as  for  praising  his 
verses,  I  beg  to  be  excused  !  When  a  man  has 
not  the  happiness  to  be  able  to  write  better  than 
that,  he  ought  to  repress,  under  pain  of  death, 
his  desire  to  make  rhymes."  Finally,  all  the 
grace  and  concession  to  which,  with  great  effort, 
his  feelings  were  brought,  could  only  induce 
him  say  —  thinking  that  he  softened  his  style 
exceedingly :  "  Monsieur,  I  am  sorry  to  be  so 
critical,  and  I  heartily  wish,  out  of  good-will 
to  you,  that  I  could  have  thought  your  sonnet 
better."  After  which  an  embrace  was  hastily 
brought  about  in  order  to  conclude  the  pro- 
ceedings as  fast  as  possible. 

;6liante. 

He  certainly  is  very  singular  in  his  manner 
of  acting;  but,  I  must  confess,  I  esteem  him 
highly.  The  sincerity  on  which  his  soul  so 
prides  itself  has  something  noble  and  heroic 
in  it.  'T  is  a  virtue  rare  indeed  in  these  days ; 
and  I  wish  I  could  see  it  in  others  as  in  him. 

Philinte. 

As  for  me,  the  more  I  see  of  him  the  more 
amazed  I  am  at  this  passion  to  which  he  yields 


118  THE   MISANTHROPE  [Act  IV 

his  heart.  With  the  nature  it  has  pleased  God 
to  give  him,  I  cannot  see  how  it  is  that  he  loves 
as  he  does;  and  still  less  do  I  see  why  your 
cousin  should  be  the  woman  to  whom  his  heart 
inclines. 

ISliante. 

It  only  shows  that  love  is  not  invariably 
produced  in  hearts  by  harmony  of  disposition; 
and  all  those  theories  of  gentle  sympathy  are 
in  this  case  belied. 

Philinte. 

But  do  you  think,  from  what  you  see,  that 
he  is  loved  ? 

J^LIANTE. 

That  is  a  point  it  is  not  easy  to  make  out. 
How  can  we  judge  how  truly  she  may  love 
him?  Her  heart  is  never  really  sure  itself; 
sometimes  she  loves  and  does  not  know  it;  at 
other  times  she  thinks  she  loves  and  there  is 
nothing  in  it. 

Philinte. 

I  think  our  friend  will  find  more  grief  than 
he  imagines  with  your  cousin.  To  tell  the 
truth,  if  he  possessed  my  heart,  he  would  have 
turned   his  homage  elsewhere,  and  by  a  wiser 


Scene  I]  THE   MISANTHROPE  119 

choice   have   shown,    madame,   that  he   profits 
by  the  kindness  you  have  shown  him. 

Eliante. 
For  myself,  I  stand  on  no  punctilio,  for  I 
think  that  in  such  matters  we  should  show 
good  faith.  I  do  not  oppose  his  tenderness  for 
Celimene;  on  the  contrary,  my  heart  is  inter- 
ested for  her,  and  if  the  thing  depended  upon  me 
I  should  myself  unite  him  to  the  one  he  loves. 
But  if  in  such  a  choice  (as  well  may  happen) 
his  love  should  meet  some  unpropitious  fate, 
and  it  so  chanced  another's  suit  were  crowned, 
I  could  resolve  to  accept  his  homage  then; 
for  the  refusal  suffered  by  him  in  such  a  case 
would   cause  me  no  repugnance. 

Philinte. 

Neither  do  I  oppose,  madame,  the  kindness 
which  your  charming  soul  bestows  upon  him; 
and  he  himself  can  tell  you,  if  he  will,  what 
I  have  taken  pains  to  say  to  him  about  it. 
But  if,  by  the  marriage  which  he  now  desires, 
you  should  be  unable  to  receive  his  vows,  I 
shall  then  seek  the  transcendent  favor  which 
your  soul  with  so  much  generosity  now  gives 
to  him,  —  happy  when  his  heart  turns  else- 
where, if  yours,  madame,  falls  back  on  mine. 


120  THE  MISANTHEOPE  [Act  IV 

You  are  making  merry,  Philinte. 

Philinte. 
No,    madame;   I   am   speaking  now   of  my 
soul's  best;  and  I  await  the   occasion    to  offer 
myself  openly;    trusting,    with   all   my   heart, 
the  moment  soon  may  come. 


SCENE   SECOND 
Alceste,  ]&liante,  Philinte 

Alceste. 
Ah !    avenge    me,    madame,    for    an    affront 
which  has,   at  last,   conquered  my  constancy. 

Eliante. 
What  is  it  ?  what  can  have  moved  you  thus  ? 

Alceste. 

That  which  I  can't  conceive  of  without  dying. 

And  the  upheaval  of  all  the  natural  world  could 

not  unhinge  me  more  than  this  disaster.     'T  is 

done,    'tis   over!     My  love  —  I  cannot  speak 

of  it ! 

Eliante. 

Try  to  control  your  mind. 


ScBNE  II]         THE  MISANTHROPE  121 

Alceste. 

Oh,  just  Heaven!  why  were  such  charms 
joined  to  the  vices  of  the  basest  souls? 

IJliante. 
But  still,  what  can  have  — 

Alceste,  % 

Ah !  all  is  ruined ;  I  am  —  I  am  betrayed, 
I  am  destroyed.  Celimene  —  who  could  believe 
it  ?  —  Celimene  deceives  me ;  she  is  unfaithful. 

J^LIANTE. 

Have  you  just  grounds  for  that  belief  ? 

Philinte. 

Perhaps  it  is  mere  suspicion,  lightly  kindled. 
Your  jealous  mind  invents,  at  times,  chimeras. 

Alceste. 

Ha !  morbleu !  monsieur,  mind  your  own 
affairs.  \_To  Eliante\  I  am,  alas!  too  certain  of 
her  treachery;  for  here,  in  my  pocket,  written 
by  her  own  hand,  is  a  letter  to  Oronte  which 
proves  to  my  very  eyes  her  shame  and  my 
disgrace —    Oronte!  whose  homage  I  believed 


122  THE  MISANTHROPE  [Act  IV 

she   fled;    the   one  of  all   my  rivals  whom  I 
feared   the   least. 

Philinte. 

A  letter  easily  misleads  at  sight,  and  is  often 
not  so  guilty  as  we  think  it. 

Alceste. 
Monsieur,  once  more,  let  me  alone,  I  beg;  and 
keep  your  interest  for  your  own  concerns. 

Eliante. 

You  ought  to  moderate  your  anger.     And  this 

outrage  — 

Alceste. 

Madame,  it  rests  with  you  to  avenge  it.     It 

is  to  you  I  have  recourse  to  free  my  heart  from 

poignant  anguish.     Avenge  me  on  your  cousin, 

your  ungrateful  and  perfidious  cousin,  who  basely 

has  betrayed  a  faithful  love.     Avenge  me  for  a 

wrong  which  you  must  hold  in  horror. 

iilLIAlS^TB. 

I  avenge  you !  how  ? 

Alceste. 

Accept  my  heart  —  accept  it,  madame,  and 

take  the  place  of  that  unfaithful  woman.     In 

that  way  only  can  I  have  revenge;  I  wish  to 

punish  her  by  the  honest  vows,  the  deep  affec- 


Scene  II]         THE  MISANTHROPE  123 

tion,  the  respectful  suit,  the  assiduous  service, 
and  the  fervent  duty  my  heart  henceforth  will 
offer  on  your  altar. 

Eliante. 
I  pity  what  you  suffer,  certainly,  and  I  do  not 
reject  the  heart  you  offer  me ;  but  the  wrong  is 
not,  perhaps,  so  great  as  you  imagine,  and  you 
may  still  give  up  these  thoughts  of  vengeance. 
When  we  are  hurt  by  one  who  has  a  deep 
attraction  we  are  apt  to  make  rash  plans  we  do 
not  execute.  We  may  see  powerful  reasons 
to  break  our  chain,  and  yet  a  guilty  dear  one 
soon  is  innocent;  and  then  the  revenge  we  wish 
to  take  is  easily  dispelled,  and  we  see  'tis  but 
a  lovers'  quarrel  after  all. 

Alceste, 

No,  no,  madame,  I  assure  you,  no.  The 
offence  is  mortal.  I  break  my  bonds,  and  there 
is  no  return.  Nothing  can  change  my  firm 
intention,  for  I  should  punish  myself  were  I 
to  love  her  still.  Here  she  is;  my  anger 
is  redoubled  by  her  presence.  I  will  denounce 
her  treacherous  actions  to  her  face,  and  so  con- 
found her.  After  which,  freed  once  for  all 
from  her  deceitful  charm,  I  '11  bring  to  you  a 
heart  at   liberty. 


124  THE  MISANTHROPE  [Act  IV 

SCENE  THIRD 
Ci:LiMi;NE,  Alcestb 

Alceste,  aside. 
Oh,  heaven  !  can  I  be  master  of  my  emotions  ? 

C^LiMiNE,    aside. 
Heyday !    (To   Alceste)  What   troubles   you 
thus  ?     Why  these  sighs,   these   gloomy  looks  ? 
Are  they  meant  for  me  1 

AliCESTE. 

Of  all  the  wrongs  of  which  the  soul  is  capa- 
ble, nothing  compares  with  your  disloyalty. 
Fate,  devils,  and  the  anger  of  high  Heaven 
have   never   yet   produced   a   thing   so   evil. 

C^LIMENE. 

Here 's  sweetness  truly,  and  I  like  it  much. 

Alceste. 
Do  not  jest;  this  is  no  time  to  laugh;  blush 
rather,  for  there  is  ample  reason ;  I  have  sure 
proofs  of  your  betrayal.  This  was  the  meaning 
of  my  troubled  soul ;  't  was  not  in  vain  my  love 
became  alarmed;  those  frequent  doubts  you 
thought  so  odious  were  warnings  of  the  calamity 
before  me.  In  spite  of  all  your  care  and  clever- 
ness in   deception,    my  star  was  telling  me  of 


Scene  III]       THE  MISANTHROPE  125 

that  I  had  to  fear.  But  do  not  think  that  I 
will  suffer  the  sting  of  such  an  outrage  and  not 
take  vengeance.  I  know  we  have  no  power 
over  desire;  that  love  is,  everywhere,  born 
independent;  no  force  can  thrust  it  on  the 
heart,  and  every  soul  is  free  to  choose  its 
conqueror.  Therefore  I  should  have  had  no 
reason  to  complain  had  your  lips  spoken  truly, 
and  refused  my  suit  when  first  I  pressed  it. 
My  heart  would  then  have  had  no  right  to 
quarrel  with  its  fate.  But  to  find  my  love 
accepted  with  false  vows  —  that  is  betrayal, 
that  is  perfidy,  which  cannot  be  too  sternly 
punished,  and  I  will  give  the  reins  to  my  resent- 
ment. Yes,  yes,  fear  all  after  such  infamy ;  I  am 
no  more  myself,  I  am  all  anger!  Stabbed  by 
the  mortal  blow  your  hand  has  struck,  my 
senses  are  no  longer  ruled  by  reason;  I  yield  to 
the  promptings  of  a  just  resentment,  and  I  will 
not  answer  for  what  I  now  may  do. 

CiLIMiNE. 

But   what  has   caused,    if   I   may   ask,    this 

violent   fit    of    anger?      Have   you   lost   your 

reason  ? 

Alceste. 

Yes,  yes,  I  have  lost  it!     I  lost  it  when  from 

the  sight  of  you  I  took,   for  my  sorrow,   the 


126  THE  MISANTHROPE  [Act  IV 

poison  that  is  killing  me,  and  when  I  trusted 
the  sincerity  of  all  those  traitorous  charms 
which  so  enthralled  me. 

Celimene, 

What  is  this  treachery   of   which  you  thus 

complain  ? 

Alceste. 

Ah  !  double-heart,  that  knows  so  well  the  art 

of  feigning  !     But  I  have  the  means  at  hand  all 

ready  to  confound  it.     Cast  your  eyes  here,  and 

recognize  your  writing.     This  discovered  letter 

suffices   to   convict   you;    against  this   witness 

there  is  no  reply. 

Celimene. 
Is  this  the  matter  that  has  so  disturbed  you  ? 

Alceste. 
You  do  not  blush  to  see  that  letter  1 

CiLIMiNE. 

And  why,  pray,  should  I  blush  to  see  it  ? 

Alceste. 
What !    do   you   add  audacity  to  treachery  ? 
Will  you  disavow  that  note  because  it  does  not 
bear  your  seal? 

CiLIMiNE. 

Why  should  I  disavow  a  letter  written  by  me  ? 


Scene  III]        THE  MISANTHROPE  127 

Alceste. 
Can  you  see  it  without  shame  for  the  crime 
toward  me  of  which  it  proves  you  guilty  1 

CelimJ:ne. 
You  are,  upon  my  word,  a  most  unreasonable 

man. 

Alceste. 

What!  do  you  dare  defy  that  ocular  proof, 
and  say  that  in  its  tenderness  to  Oronte  there 
is  nothing  to  outrage  me  and  make  you  blush  ? 

Ci^LIMiNE. 

Oronte !  who  says  the  letter  was  to  him  1 

Alceste. 
The  persons  who  placed  it  in  my  hands  this 
day.  But  I  '11  agree  it  might  be  for  another  — 
if  so,  would  my  heart  have  less  reason  to  com- 
plain of  yours?  would  you  be  guiltless  toward 
me? 

C^LIMilNE. 

But  if  it  be  a  woman  to  whom  I  wrote  that 

letter,  why  should  it  wound  you?  where 's  the 

crime  of  that? 

Alceste. 

Ha!  the  shift  is  good,  the  evasion  admirable! 

I  did  not  expect,  I  must  admit,  this  trick,  but 


128  THE  MISANTHROPE  [Act  IV 

it  convinces  me  completely.  How  dare  you 
have  recourse  to  vulgar  subterfuge?  Do  you 
think  me  blind?  Go  on,  and  let  me  see  the 
crooked  ways,  the  shifty  air  by  "which  you  will 
maintain  so  clear  a  falsehood;  I  'd  like  to  know 
how  you  can  twist  to  suit  a  woman  the  words  of 
that  letter  which  is  full  of  passion.  Explain, 
to  hide  your  lack  of  truth,  the  words  I  now  will 
read  to  you  — 

CiLIMi:NE. 

I  do  not  choose  it.  I  think  you  are  ridiculous 
enougli,  to  use  your  power  as  you  do,  and  dare 
to  tell  me  to  my  face  all  this. 

Alceste. 
No,  no ;  be  not  so  angry ;  take  some  pains  to 
justify  these  words  of  yours  — 

Cl^LIMiNE. 

No,  I  refuse  to  hear  them;  what  it  may 
please  you  to  believe  in  this  affair  is  of  the 
smallest  consequence  to  me. 

Alceste. 
I  beg  of  you,  tell  me  the  truth;  I  will  be 
satisfied  —  if  I  can  be  —  that  the  letter  is  to  a 
woman. 


scenbHI]      the  misanthrope  129 

CiLIMiNE. 

No,  the  letter  is  to  Oronte;  I  wish  it  to  be 
believed.  I  receive  his  attentions  with  great 
pleasure;  I  admire  what  he  says,  I  value  what 
he  is.  I  am  ready  to  agree  to  all  you  say. 
Now,  do  as  you  please,  take  your  own  course; 
but  do  not  wear  me  out  with  such  scenes  any 
longer. 

Alceste,  aside. 

Heavens !  was  ever  any  fate  more  cruel  ?  Was 
ever  heart  so  treated  ?  What !  when  a  just  dis- 
pleasure forces  me  to  speak,  't  is  I  who  am  com- 
plained of,  I  who  make  the  quarrel !  My  grief 
and  my  suspicions  are  goaded  on,  and  I  am  told 
I  may  believe  the  worst  —  in  which  she  glories ! 
And  yet  my  heart  is  still  so  cowardly  as  not  to 
break  the  chain  that  binds  me  to  her,  or  arm 
itself  with  laudable  contempt  for  the  ungrateful 
object  it  has  loved  too  well.  (To  Celimene) 
Ah!  you  know  well,  perfidious  woman,  how  to 
make  my  weakness  serve  your  ends  in  spite  of 
myself,  and  how  to  use  the  fatal  love,  born  of 
your  eyes,  to  carry  out  your  purposes.  Defend 
yourself,  at  least,  from  a  crime  that  overwhelms 
me;  cease  this  affectation  of  being  guilty. 
Prove  to  me,  if  you  can,  the  innocence  of  that 
9 


130  THE  MISANTHKOPE  [Act  IV 

letter;  my  tenderness  consents  to  come  to  your 
assistance  —  strive  to  seem  faithful ,  and  I,  in 
turn,  will  strive  to  think  you  so. 

Cj&LIMilNE. 

Oh !  you  are  mad  with  all  your  jealous  trans- 
ports ;  you  don't  deserve  the  love  I  feel  for  you. 
I  should  like  much  to  know  what  could  induce 
me  to  stoop  so  low  as  to  deceive  you ;  and  whj-, 
if  my  heart  leaned  another  way,  I  should  not 
say  so  with  sincerity.  How  is  it  that  the  kind 
assurance  I  gave  you  of  my  feelings  was  not 
enough  to  save  me  from  your  suspicions  ?  Has 
such  a  pledge  no  power  against  them  ?  and  is  it 
not  insulting  me  to  listen  to  their  voice? 
Because  a  woman's  heart  makes  a  strong  effort 
when  it  owns  its  love ;  because  the  honor  of  our 
sex  —  that  enemy  to  ardor  —  firmly  opposes  such 
avowals,  should  the  lover  for  whose  sake  we 
overcome  those  obstacles,  should  he  be  the  one 
to  doubt  our  truth  ?  Is  he  not  guilty  in  suffer- 
ing others  to  say  these  things  —  at  least  without 
a  combat  ?  Go  !  such  foul  suspicions  deserve  my 
anger;  you  are  not  worth  the  esteem  in  which  I 
held  you.  How  foolish  I  have  been!  I  am 
vexed  with  my  simplicity  in  keeping  any  kind- 
ness in  my  heart  for  you.     I  ought  to  turn  my 


ScEKEin]        THE  MISANTHROPE  131 

love  elsewhere,  and  give  you  thus  a  subject  of 
legitimate  complaint. 

Alceste. 

Ah  !  traitress,  my  weakness  is  indeed  a  mys- 
tery. Doubtless  you  are  deceiving  me  with 
those  soft  words.  What  of  it?  I  must  fol- 
low my  destiny ;  my  soul  is  given  over  to  your 
worship.  I  wish  to  see  the  end  of  this,  and 
know  what  is  your  heart, — and  whether  it  is 
black  enough  to  still  betray  me. 

CELIMiNE. 

No,  for  you  do  not  love  me  as  I  must  be 
loved. 

Alceste. 

Ah  !  my  love  is  far  bej'ond  compare ;  and  in 
its  ardor  to  show  itself  for  what  it  is  to  all  the 
world,  it  even  forms  desires  against  you.  Yes, 
I  would  fain  that  no  one  thought  you  lovable ; 
I  would  you  were  reduced  to  misery;  that 
Heaven  denied  you  everything;  that  you  had 
nor  rank,  nor  birth,  nor  wealth,  so  that  my 
love  might  make  some  startling  sacrifice  to  heal 
the  injustice  destiny  had  done  you,  and  that  my 
heart  might  have  the  joy  and  glory  of  seeing 
you  hold  all  things  through  my  love. 


132  THE  MISANTHROPE  [Act  IV 

CelimIine. 
That's  a  strange  fashion  of  wishing  well  to 
me ;  heaven  grant  you  may  not  have  the  chance 
of  it.    But  here  's  your  valet,  seemingly  excited. 


SCENE  FOURTH 

CfiLIMilNE,   AlCESTE,    DuBOIS 

Alceste. 

What  is   all  this?  and  why  this  frightened 

air? 

Dubois. 
Monsieur  — 

Alceste. 

Well? 

Dubois. 
Strange  things  have  happened  — 

Alceste. 
What? 

Dubois. 
Matters  are  going  wrong  in  our  affairs  — 

Alceste. 
How? 

Dubois. 

Am  I  to  speak  openly? 


Scene  IV]       THE  MISANTHROPE  133 

Alceste. 
Yes,  speak;  and  quickly  too. 

Dubois. 

Will  no  one  overhear  us  t 

Alceste. 
Ha  !  what  nonsense !     Speak  out. 

Dubois. 

Monsieur,  we  must  get  away  at  once. 

Alceste. 
What? 

Dubois. 

We  must  slip  off  silently. 

Alceste. 
And  why  1 

Dubois. 

I  tell  you  we  must  go  at  once. 

Alceste. 
The  reason  1 

Dubois. 

And  go  without  good-byes. 

Alceste. 
But  your  reason,  I  say?     Why  do  you  use 
Bucli  language? 


134  THE  MISANTHEOPE  [Act  IV 

Dubois. 
The  reason  is  we  must  be  packing. 

Alceste. 
Ha !  I  '11   break  your  head  assuredly  if  you 
don't  answer  differently. 

Dubois. 

Monsieur,  a  man  all  black  in  face  and  clothes 

came  to   the  house,   and  even  to  the  kitchen; 

where  he  left  a  paper,  scribbled  in  such  a  way 

that  one  had  need  be  worse  than  any  devil  to 

read  it.     It  concerns,  no  doubt,  your  lawsuit, 

but  all  the  fiends  in  hell,  I  think,  could  never 

make  it  out. 

Alceste. 

Well,  what  of  it  1     What  has  that  paper  to 

do,  you  fool,  with  the  departure  that  you  talked 

about  ? 

Dubois. 

Monsieur,    an   hour   later   a  gentleman   who 

visits  you  came  hurrying  to  see  you  in  much 

excitement.     Not  finding  you,  he  charged  me, 

civilly  (knowing  with  what  zeal  I  serve  you), 

to  tell  you  —     Stay,  I  wish  I  could  recall  his 

name. 

Alceste. 

No   matter  for  his   name;  what  did  he  tell 
you? 


Scene  IV]        THE  MISANTHEOPE  135 

Dubois. 
Well,  he  was  one  of  your  friends,  that  must 
suffice.      He  told  me   you   were   in  danger  of 
arrest,  and  must  get  off  at  once. 

Alceste. 
But  why  ?     Did  he  not  specify  the  reason  1 

Dubois. 
No ;  he  asked  for  pen  and  ink,  and  wrote  a 
line  by   which  you   can,    I  think,   get*  to   the 
bottom  of  this  mystery. 

Alcestb. 
Give  it  me,  then. 

C^LIMiNE. 

What  can  all  this  mean  1 

Alceste. 
I   do   not   know;    but   I   will   clear    it    up. 
Come,    you    impertinent    devil,    give    me    the 
note. 

Dubois,  after  searching  long  in  his  pocket. 
Faith  !  monsieur  —  I   believe  —  I  've  left  it 

on  your  table. 

Alceste. 

I  don't  know  what  prevents  me  from  — 


136  THE  MISANTHROPE  [Act  IV 

Celimenb. 
Do   not  be   angry;   but  go    at  once  and  see 
what  all  this  means. 

Alceste. 
It  seems  that  fate,    whatever  pains  I  take, 
has  sworn  to  hinder  all  our  interviews.      But  to 
defeat  it,  promise  my  love,  madame,   that  you 
will  let  me  speak  with  you  again  this  evening. 


JEND   OF   ACT   FOURTH. 


ScbnbI]  the  misanthrope  137 


act  Mi^ 


SCENE  FIRST 
Alceste,  Philintb 

Alceste. 

JVlY  resolution  is  taken,  I  tell  you. 

Philinte. 
But,  however  hard  the  blow,  must  it  compel 
you  — 

Alceste. 

Useless  to  say  a  word,  useless  to  reason  with 
me ;  nothing  that  you  can  do  will  turn  me  from 
my  purpose.  The  age  in  which  we  live  is  too 
perverted ;  I  desire  to  withdraw  from  intercourse 
with  men.  Honor,  uprightness,  decency,  and 
the  laws  were  openly  arrayed  against  my  adver- 
sary; on  all  sides  was  the  equity  of  my  cause 
proclaimed ;  and  on  the  faith  of  my  just  rights 
I  rested  tranquilly.  And  now  behold,  I  am 
defrauded  of  success;  justice  is  with  me,  but 
I  lose  my  case  !  A  traitor,  whose  scandalous 
history  is  well  known  to  all,  comes  off  victorious 


138  THE  MISANTHROPE  [Act  V 

by  the  blackest  falsehood !  Those  who  were  on 
my  side  yield  to  his  treachery!  He  cuts  my 
throat  and  makes  them  think  it  right.  The 
weight  of  his  canting  artifice  —  all  jugglery!  — 
has  overthrown  the  Eight  and  baffled  Justice : 
he  wins  a  verdict  which  has  crowned  a  crime. 
And  not  content  with  the  great  wrong  he  has 
already  done  me,  he  is  spreading  everywhere  a 
villanous  book,  the  very  reading  of  which  is 
most  condemnable,  —  a  book  that  merits  the 
.rigor  of  the  law;  and  the  lying  rascal  has  the 
effrontery  to  say  I  wrote  it  !  And  Oronte  mut- 
ters low  and  tries  maliciously  to  circulate  the 
calumny,  —  he,  who  holds  the  rank  of  an 
honest  man  at  court;  to  whom  I  have  been 
sincere  and  frank;  he,  who  came  to  me,  with 
an  eager  ardor  which  I  did  not  seek,  and 
asked  for  my  opinion  on  his  verses.  And  be- 
cause I  treated  him  with  honesty,  refusing  to 
be  false  to  him  or  truth,  he  helps  to  crush  me 
with  an  imaginary  crime,  and  now  becomes  my 
greatest  enemy !  Never  will  his  soul  forgive 
me  because,  forsooth  !  I  could  not  say  his 
verse  was  good.  And  all  men,  damn  them! 
have  become  like  that.  These  are  the  actions 
to  which  glory  leads  them !  Here' s  the  good 
faith,   the  virtuous   zeal,    the  justice,  and   the 


Scene  I]  THE  AnSANTHROPE  139 

honor  we  expect  of  them!  No,  no,  it  is  too 
much  to  bear  such  suffering.  I  will  escape  this 
nest  of  villains,  and  since  with  human  beings 
we  must  live  like  wolves,  traitors !  you  shall 
not  have  my  life   among  you. 

Philinte. 
I  think  you  are  too  hasty  in  forming  that 
design ;  the  harm  is  not  so  great  as  you  would 
make  it.  Tlie  deed  this  man  has  dared  impute 
to  you  has  not  obtained  enough  belief  to  make 
the  authorities  arrest  you.  That  false  report  is 
dying  of  itself;  it  is  an  action  that  will  injure 
only  him  who  did  it. 

Alceste. 
Injure  him,  indeed!  He  does  not  fear  the 
scandal  of  such  tricks.  He  has  the  world's 
permission  to  be  a  scoundrel ;  and  so  far  from 
his  credit  being  injured  by  this  deed  you  '11 
see  him  in  some  honored  place  to-morrow. 

Philinte. 

Nevertheless  'tis  certain  no  one  has  given 
much  belief  to  the  tale  his  malice  spreads 
about  you.  On  that  score  you  have  nothing 
at  all  to  fear.  As  for  the  verdict  on  your 
lawsuit,    of  which  indeed  you  may  complain, 


140  THE   MISANTHKOPE  [Act  V 

justice  may  yet  be  v/on ;  you  can  appeal  against 
this  judgment  — 

Alceste. 

No,  I  shall  hold  to  it.  However  great  the 
wrong  that  verdict  does  me,  I  will  not  have 
it  quashed;  it  shov.^s  too  plainly  how  the  Right 
is  wronged.  I  wish  it  to  remain  for  all  pos- 
terity, —  a  signal  mark,  a  noted  testimony  to 
the  wickedness  of  this  age.  'T  will  cost  me 
twenty  thousand  francs,  but  with  that  sum  I 
buy  the  right  to  curse  the  iniquity  of  human 
nature  and  to  keep  alive  my  everlasting  hatred 
to  it. 

Philinte. 

In  short  — 

Alceste. 

In  short,  your  efforts  are  superfluous.  What 
can  you  find  to  say  upon  this  matter,  monsieur  ? 
Will  you  have  the  effrontery  to  bid  me  to  my 
face  excuse  the  infamy  of  what  has  happened  ? 

Philinte. 

No,  I  am  one  with  you  in  what  you  say.  In 
these  days  all  things  go  by  base  intrigue  and 
selfish  interests;  craft  carries  all  before  it. 
Men  ought  indeed  to  be  made  of  other  metal; 
but  is  their  lack  of   probity  a  reason  to  with- 


Scene  I]  THE  MISANTHROPE  141 

draw  yourself  from  social  life?  All  human 
frailty  is  a  means  of  exercising  our  philosophy. 
That  is  the  finest  work  of  virtue.  If  every 
one  were  clothed  with  integrity,  if  every  heart 
were  just,  frank,  kindly,  the  other  virtues 
would  be  well-nigh  useless,  since  their  chief 
purpose  is  to  make  us  bear  with  patience  the 
injustice  of  our  fellows.  And  so,  a  heart  of 
honest  virtue  — 

Alceste. 

I  know  your  words  are  of  the  best,  monsieur, 
your  excellent  arguments  are  most  abundant; 
but  you  waste  your  time  in  making  those  fine 
speeches.  Reason  demands  for  my  soul's  good 
that  I  retire.  I  have  not  enough  control  over 
my  tongue;  I  cannot  answer  for  what  I  might 
be  led  to  say;  I  should  have  twenty  duels  on 
my  hands  at  once.  Leave  me,  without  further 
argument,  to  wait  for  Celimene.  She  must 
consent  to  my  design.  'T  is  that  which  brings 
me  here  to  speak  with  her.  I  am  about  to  see 
whether  her  heart  does  truly  love  me ;  this  com- 
ing hour  will  prove  it  to  me  once  for  all. 

Philinte. 

Let  us  go  up  to  ^liante  while  awaiting 
Celimene. 


142  THE  MISANTHROPE  [Act  V 

Alceste. 

No,  my  soul  is  full  of  care;  do  you  go  up, 

and  leave  me  in  this  gloomy  corner  with  my 

black  misery. 

Philinte. 

'T  is  cruel  company.     T  will  find  Eliante  and 

bring  her  down. 


SCENE   SECOND 
CiiLiMiiNE,  Oronte,  Alceste 

Oronte. 

Yes,  it  is  for  you  to  say,  madame,  whether 
you  will  bind  me  wholly  to  you  by  these  tender 
ties.  I  must  have  full  assurance  from  your 
soul  to  mine ;  a  lover  cannot  bear  these  hesita- 
tions. If  the  ardor  of  my  passion  has  power 
to  move  you,  you  should  not  feign  unwilling- 
ness to  let  me  know  it.  The  proof  I  ask  of 
you  is,  plainly,  no  longer  to  admit  Alceste 
among  your  suitors;  to  sacrifice  him,  madame, 
to  my  love;  and  banish  him  from  your  house 
this  very  day. 

CiLIMiNE. 

But  why  are  you  so  angry  with  him  now, 
you  whom  I  have  often  known  to  speak  of  him 
with  favor? 


Scene  II]  THE  MISANTHROPE  143 

Obonte. 

Madame,  there  is  no  need  of  explanations. 
The  question  is,  What  are  your  sentiments? 
Choose,  if  you  please,  between  us;  keep  one 
or  else  the  other;  my  resolution  waits  upon 
your  will. 

Alceste,  advancing  from  his  corner. 
Yes,  monsieur  is  right.  Madame,  you  must 
choose.  In  this  his  wishes  accord  with  mine; 
the  self-same  passion  prompts  me,  the  same 
intention  brings  me  hither.  My  love  must  have 
some  certain  proof  of  yours.  Things  cannot 
thus  drag  on  another  day ;  this  is  the  moment 
to  reveal  your  heart, 

Oronte. 
Monsieur,  if  your  suit  succeeds,  I  do  not  mean 
that  my  importunate  love  shall  trouble  it. 

Alceste. 
Monsieur,  I  shall  not  seek,  jealous  or  not, 
to  share  her  heart  with  you. 

Oron^te. 
If  she  prefers  your  loA'e  to  mine  — 

Alceste. 
If  she  is  capable  of  any  leaning  toward  you  — 


144  THE  MISANTHROPE  [Act  V 

Oronte. 
I  swear  I  will  no  longer  court  her. 

Alceste. 
I  swear  I  will  no  longer  see  her. 

Orokte. 

Madame,    it   is    for   you    to    speak   without 

constraint. 

Alceste. 

Madame,    you  can  explain  yourself  without 

anxiety. 

Oronte. 

You  have  but  to  say  on  whom  your  wishes 

fall. 

Alceste. 

You  have  but  to  speak  the  truth  and  choose 

between  us. 

Oronte. 

What!  at  making  such  a  choice  you  seem  to 

be  distressed ! 

Alceste. 

What!  your  soul  hesitates  and  seems  uncer- 
tain! 

CelimI;ne. 

Good  heavens !  this  demand  is  most  ill-timed ; 
how  little  sense  or  reason  either  of  yon  show  ! 
I  know  myself  the  preference  that  I  feel;  my 


ScbnbII]         the  misanthrope  145 

heart  is  not  upon  the  scales,  suspended  doubt- 
fully between  you.  Nothing  could  be  more 
quickly  made  than  the  choice  you  ask  for: 
but  I  should  feel,  to  tell  the  truth,  too  much 
embarrassment  in  making  this  avowal  to  your 
face.  A  choice  like  this  must  seem  unkind  to 
one;  it  should  not,  therefore,  openly  be  made 
in  presence  of  both.  A  heart  will  always  show 
its  leanings  plainly  enough  without  compelling 
it  to  bare  itself;  some  gentler  means  can  sure 
be  found  to  show  a  lover  that  his  attentions 
are  unwelcome. 

Oronte. 

No,  no,  I  do  not  fear  a  frank  avowal,  and  I 
consent  for  my  part  — 

Alceste. 

And  I  demand  it.  It  is  this  very  publish- 
ing I  dare  exact.  I  will  not  have  you  shirk 
the  truth  in  any  way.  To  keep  on  terms  with 
all  the  world  is  what  you  study.  But  no  more 
dallying,  no  more  indecision  now;  you  must 
explain  yourself  decisively;  or  else  I  take 
refusal  for  decision,  and  I  shall  know,  for  my 
part,  how  to  explain  your  silence ;  I  shall  con- 
sider said  the  wrong  that  I  expect  of  you. 
10 


146  THE  MISANTHROPE  [Act  V 

Oeonte. 

Monsieur,  I  thank  you  for  your  indignation, 
and  I  say  to  madame,  here,  the  same  as  you. 

Celimene. 
How  you  annoy  me  with  your  whims !    What 
justice  is  there  in  what  you  ask  ?     Have  I  not 
told  you  the  motive  that  restrains  me  t     Here  is 
!^liante,  she  shall  judge  this  matter. 


SCENE  THIRD 
!§!liantb,  Philint£,  CsLiMiiNE,  Oronte,  Alcestk 

C^LIM^NE. 

Cousin,  I  am  persecuted  by  these  two  men, 
whose  scheme  appears  to  have  been  concerted. 
They  each  demand,  with  equal  heat,  that  I  shall 
here  proclaim,  in  presence  of  both,  the  choice 
my  heart  has  made;  and  that,  in  givuig  this 
decision  openly,  I  shall  forbid  one  or  the  other 
from  paying  me  attentions.  Tell  me  if  things 
are  ever  done  in  that  way. 

i^LIANTE. 

Do  not  consult  me ;  you  may  find  that  you 
appeal  to  the  wrong  person.  Frankly,  I  am 
for  those  who  speak  their  thoughts. 


ScbneIV]      the  misanthrope  147 

Okonte. 
Madame,  it  is  in  vain  you  seek  to  evade  us. 

Alceste. 
All  your  evasions  are  ill-seconded. 

Oronte. 

You  must,  you  shall  speak  out,  and  end  this 

vacillation. 

Alceste. 

It  is  enough  if  you  persist  in  silence. 

Oronte. 
I  ask  but  a  single  word  to  end  the  matter. 

Alceste. 
And  I  shall  comprehend  you  if  you  say  no 
word. 


SCENE  FOURTH 

ABsnroi:,  Acaste,  Clitandre,  CfinMiiNE,  Obonte, 
Alceste,  Eliante,  Philinte 

Acaste,  to  Celimene. 
Madame,  we  have  come,  Clitandre  and  I,  to 
clear  up,  if  you  please  without  offence,  a  trifling 
matter. 

Clitandre,  to  Oronte  and  Alceste. 
Your  presence,  gentlemen,  is  very  timely,  for 
you  are  both  concerned  in  this  aflfair. 


148  THE  MISANTHROPE  [Act  V 

Arsinoe,  to  Celimene. 
It  may  surprise  you,  madame,  to  see  me  here, 
and  I  must  tell  you  that  these  gentlemen  have 
caused  my  coming.  They  came  to  see  me  to 
complain  of  something  my  heart  cannot  believe. 
I  have  too  high  an  esteem  for  your  real  depth  of 
soul  to  think  you  capable  of  so  great  a  wrong. 
My  eyes  refused  their  strongest  testimony ;  and 
my  friendship,  overlooking  our  small  jars,  has 
brought  me  to  you  in  their  company  that  I  may 
see  you  clear  yourself  at  once  of  this  foul 
calumny. 

ACASTE. 

Madame,  we  wish  to  see,  in  a  kindly  spirit, 
how  you  will  take  these  facts.  Here  is  a  letter 
written  by  you  to  Clitandre. 

Clitandre. 
And  here  a  tender  billet  written  by  you  to 
Acaste. 

AcASTE,  to  Oronte  and  Alceste. 
Gentlemen,  this  writing  is  well-known  to  you, 
of   course.     I  do  not  doubt  that  her  civilities 
have  frequently  enabled  you  to  see  it.    But  the 
letter  itself  is  worthy  of  being  read. 

(Reads.)  "  What  a  strange  man  you  are  to 
blame  me  for  my  gayety,  and  to  declare  that  I  am 
never  so  pleased  as  when  you  are  not  with  me. 


SceiteIV]        the  misanthrope  149 

Nothing  was  ever  more  unjust ;  and  if  you  do  not 
come  at  once  and  beg  my  pardon  for  this  offence, 
I  will  never  in  my  life  forgive  you  for  it.  Our 
tall,  ungainly  viscount  —  " 

He  ought  to  be  present,  and  hear  this. 

"Our  tall,  ungainly  viscount,  the  first  whom 
you  complain  of,  is  a  man  who  never  pleased  me ; 
and  since  I  saw  him,  for  an  hour  together,  spit  in 
a  pond  in  order  to  make  bubbles,  I  have  had  a 
poor  opinion  of  him.     As  for  the  little  marquis  —  " 

That  is  myself,  gentlemen;  I  say  it  without 
vanity. 

"As  for  the  little  marquis,  who  held  my  hand 
to-day  for  a  long  time,  I  think  him  the  most 
finical  of  little  beings ;  there  's  nothing  of  him 
but  his  nobility.  And  as  for  the  man  of  the  green 
ribbons  —  " 

(To  Alceste)  Your  turn  now,  monsieur. 

"  As  for  the  man  of  the  green  ribbons,  he  amuses 
me  at  times  with  his  bluntness  and  his  surly 
grumbling  ;  but  there  are  moments  when  I  think 
him  the  most  irritating  mortal  upon  earth.  As  for 
the  man  of  sonnets  —  " 

(To  Oronte)  This  is  to  your  address, 
monsieur. 

"  As  for  the  man  of  sonnets,  who  has  flung  him- 
self into  poesy  and  wishes  to  be  an  author  in 
defiance  of  everybody,  I  do  not  give  myself  the 
trouble  to  listen  to  him.     His  prose  fatigues   me 


150  THE  MISANTHROPE  [Act  V 

even  more  than  his  verses.  Therefore,  do  pray 
believe  that  I  am  not  so  gay  and  amused  in  your 
absence  as  you  fancy,  and  that  I  think  of  you  — 
more  than  I  could  wish  —  at  the  parties  of  pleasure 
to  which  I  am  dragged ;  it  is  a  wonderful  season- 
ing of  all  enjoyments  to  think  of  those  we  love." 

Clitandre. 
And  here  am  I,  in  this  billet  to  Acaste. 

"  Your  Clitandre,  of  whom  you  speak,  and  who 
says  sweet  things  to  me,  is  the  very  last  man  for 
whom  I  could  feel  regard.  He  is  absurd  to  imagine 
he  is  loved ;  and  you  are  still  more  absurd  to  fancy 
you  are  not  loved.  Exchange  opinions ;  and  then 
you  will,  both  of  you,  be  more  nearly  right.  Come 
and  see  me  as  often  as  you  can,  and  help  me  to 
bear  the  annoyance  of  being  beset  by  him. 

There,  madame,  is  the  model  of  a  noble 
character ;  you  know  what  it  is  called.  Enough ! 
We  shall  each  exhibit,  wherever  we  go,  this 
glorious  picture  of  your  heart. 

Acaste. 

I  might  say  much  to  you,  for  the  subject  is 

a  fine  one ;  but  I  do  not  count  you  worthy  of  my 

anger.     I  will  let  you  see  that  little  marquises 

can  win,  for  consolation,  hearts  that  are  worth 

far  more  than  yours. 

[^Exevnt  marquises.'] 


Scene  VI]        THE  MISANTHROPE  161 

SCENE  FIFTH 

CELISliNE,    ^LIANTE,   AbSINOE,    AlCESTE,   OrONTE, 

Philinte 

Oronte. 

Can  it  be  that  you  tear  me  thus  to  pieces  after 
all  that  you  have  written  and  said  to  me  ?  Does 
your  heart,  adorned  with  such  fine  semblances  of 
love,  give  itself,  in  turn,  to  all  the  human  race? 
Go  !  —  I  have  been  a  dupe,  but  I  am  one  no 
longer.  You  have  done  me,  madame,  a  service 
in  letting  me  unmask  you.  I  shall  profit  in  the 
heart  I  thus  regain,  and  find  my  vengeance 
in  your  loss.  {To  Alceste)  Monsieur,  1  ofier  no 
further  hindrance  to  your  love ;  you  can  con- 
clude your  treaty  with  madame.         \_Exit.'\ 


SCENE  SIXTH 

C^LIMJSNE,   ^ijLLANTB,    ArSINOE,    AlCESTE,   PhILIKTB 

Absino^. 

Truly  this  is  the  basest  act  I  have  ever 
known.  I  cannot  keep  silence,  for  I  feel  so 
shocked.  Was  ever  any  conduct  seen  like 
yours  ?     I  take  no  interest  in  those  other  men, 


152  THE  MISANTHROPE  [Act  V 

but  as  for  monsieur  (motioning  to  Alceste)  who 
rested  all  his  happiness  on  you,  a  man  like 
him,  of  honor  and  great  merit,  who  cherished 
you  with  absolute  idolatry,  ought  he  — 

Alceste. 

Allow  me,  madame,  if  you  please,  to  manage 
my  affairs  myself.  Pray  do  not  take  upon 
yourself  superfluous  cares.  In  vain  my  heart 
hears  you  take  up  its  quarrel;  it  is  not  in  a 
state  to  pay  for  so  great  zeal.  If  by  another 
choice  I  wished  to  avenge  myself  it  would  not 
be  on  you  that  choice  would  fall. 

Arsino^. 

Eh!  do  you  imagine,  monsieur,  that  such 
a  thought  exists,  or  any  eagerness  is  felt  to  win 
you?  I  think  your  mind  is  far  too  full  of 
vanity  if  it  can  flatter  itself  with  that  belief. 
Madame's  rejected  leavings  are  a  merchandise 
one  would  be  foolish  indeed  to  take  a  fancy  to. 
Pray  imdeceive  yourself;  carry  your  thoughts 
less  high ;  I  'm  not  the  sort  of  woman  you 
should  aspire  to.  You  would  do  well  to  keep 
your  sighs  for  her;  I  long  to  see  so  suitable  a 
match.  \_Exit.'\ 


Scene  VII]      THE  MISANTHROPE  I53 

SCENE   SEVENTH 
CiiLiHtNE,  Eliante,  Alcestb,  Philintb 

Alceste,  to  Celimene. 

Madame,  I  have  kept  silence,  in  spite  of  all 
that  I  have  seen  and  heard.  I  have  allowed  all 
others  to  speak  before  me.  Have  I  controlled 
myself  enough,   and  may  I  now  — 

C^LIM^NE. 

Yes,  say  all;  you  have  a  right  to  complain, 
and  to  reproach  me  as  you  will.  I  have  done 
wrong,  —  I  here  confess  it ;  and  my  discomfited 
soul  will  seek  no  vain  excuse  to  answer  you. 
I  have  despised  the  anger  of  the  others,  but 
I  admit  my  crime  to  you.  Your  indignation, 
without  a  doubt,  is  reasonable.  I  know  how 
guilty  I  must  seem  to  you,  — how  all  things 
go  to  prove  I  have  betrayed  you.  In  short, 
you  have  every  right  to  hate  me.  Do  so;  I 
consent. 

Alceste. 

Ah!  can  I,  traitress?  Can  I  thus  conquer 
love  ?  However  I  may  long  to  hate  you,  have 
I  a  heart  within  me  to  obey  my  will?  (To 
IJliante  and    Philinte)    See  what  this  abject 


154  THE  MISANTHRO;PE  [Act  V 

tenderness  can  do  !  I  call  you  both  to  witness 
my  great  weakness.  And  yet,  this  is  not  all; 
you  are  about  to  see  me  carry  that  weakness 
farther,  show  what  a  folly  'tis  to  call  us  wise, 
and  prove  that  in  all  hearts  there 's  still  the 
man.  (To  Celimene)  Yes,  I  am  willing  to  for- 
get your  guilt;  my  heart  is  ready  to  excuse 
it  and  call  this  wrong  a  foible  to  which  the 
vices  of  the  times  misled  your  youfcli,  — pro- 
vided you  here  consent  to  clasp  hands  Avith  the 
purpose  I  have  formed  to  separate  from  men 
and  live  apart  in  country  solitudes;  to  which, 
without  delay  you  now  must  follow  me.  In 
that  way  only  can  you  still  repair,  before  the 
eyes  of  all  men,  the  wrong  that  you  have  done 
me.  Do  this,  and  notwithstanding  the  notori- 
ety which  noble  hearts  abhor,  I  still  shall  find 
it  in  my  heart  to  love  you. 

Celimene. 

I!  renounce  the  world  before  I  'm  old,  and 
bury  myself  with  you  in  country  solitudes? 

Alceste. 

But  if  your  love  responds  to  mine  what 
matters  all  the  world  to  you?  Will  you  not 
be  content  with  me  alone  ? 


Scene  Vm]     THE  MISANTHROPE  156 

Solitude  has  terrors  for  a  heart  so  young. 
I  feel  that  mine  has  not  the  grandeur,  nor 
the  strength,  to  resolve  upon  a  scheme  of  this 
kind.  If  the  bestowal  of  my  hand  can  satisfy 
your  wishes  I  will  consent  to  tie  the  knot 
of  marriage  — 

AliCESTE. 

Kg;  my  soul  revolts  against  you  now;  this 
hard  refusal  moves  me  more  than  all  the  rest. 
And  since  you  cannot  in  so  sweet  a  tie  find 
all  in  me  as  I  found  all  in  you,  go !  —  I  reject 
you.  This  sore  outrage  frees  me  forever  from 
your  unworthy  bonds.  [JExit  Celimene.] 


SCENE   EIGHTH 

^LIANTE,   AlCESTE,   PhILINTE 

Alceste,  to  Miante. 
Madame,  your  beauty  is  adorned  with  every 
virtue;  never  have  I  seen  aught  in  you  but 
strict  sincerity.  I  have  long  valued  you  most 
highly.  Let  me  continue  to  esteem  you  thus; 
and  suffer  that  my  heart,  in  all  its  divers 
troubles,  should  not  demand  the  honor  of 
yoiir  bonds.     I  feel  myself  unworthy ;  I  begin 


156  THE  MISANTHROPE  [Act  V 

to  know  that  heaven  did  not  give  me  life  for 
the  ties  of  marriage.  'T  would  be  too  base 
a  homage  to  offer  you  the  leavings  of  a  heart 
not  worth  your  own ;  therefore  — 

Eliante. 

You  can   fulfil   that   thought,   Alceste.     My 

hand  is  not  so  difl&cult  to   bestow,   for  here 's 

your  friend,  who,  if  I  asked  him,  would  willingly 

accept  it. 

Philinte. 

Ah!  that  honor,  madame,  is  my  sole  desire. 

To  gain  it,  I  would   sacrifice  both  blood   and 

life. 

Alceste. 

And  may  you  ever  taste  of  true  contentment, 
by  keeping,  each  for  each,  such  sentiments.  As 
for  me,  betrayed  on  all  sides,  crushed  by  injus- 
tice, I  leave  a  pit  where  vices  triumph,  to  seek 
somewhere  on  earth  a  lonely  spot  where  I  am 
free  to  be  a  man  of  honor. 

Philinte. 
Come,  madame,  come,  let  us  employ  all  ways 
to  thwart  this  scheme  his  heart  proposes. 

EXD  O?   THE    MISANTHROPE. 


LE 

BOURGEOIS    GENTILHOMME 


(THE  NOBODY  WHO  APES  NOBILITY) 

Cfltncli2=Banet 

IN    FIVE    ACTS 


PERSONAGES 


Monsieur  Jourdain      Bourgeois. 
Madame  Jourdain    .    His  wife. 

LuciLE Daughter  o/M.  Jourdain. 

Cleonte Lover  of  Lucile. 

DoRiMiiNE      ....     Marchioness. 

Dor  ANTE Count,  lover  of  Dorimene. 

Nicole Servant-woman  to  Jourdain. 

CoviELLE Valet  to  CUonte. 

A  Music-master. 

A  Pupil  of  the  Music-master. 

A  Dancing-master. 

A  Fencing-master. 

A  Professor  of  Philosophy. 

A  Master-tailor. 

A  Journeyman-tailor. 

Two  Lacqueys. 

Musicians,  Cooks,  Tailors,  Turks,  Dervishes, 

ETC. 
The  scene  is  in  Paris,  in  the  house  of  Monsieur  Jourdain. 


LE  BOURGEOIS  GENTILHOMME 


act  jFirgt 

The  overture  is  played  by  a  grand  assemblage  of 
instruments.  In  the  middle  of  the  stage  is  a  table,  at 
which  the  Pupil  of  the  Music-master  is  composing  an 
air  which  the  Bourgeois  has  ordered  for  a  serenade. 

SCENE  FIRST 

A    MUSIC-MASTER,    A    DANCING-MASTER, 
THREE    MUSICIANS,    TWO    VIOLINS,    FOUR    DANCERS 

Music-MASTEK,  to  the  musicians. 
C_^OME,  come  iii.     Sit  you  there  and  wait  till 
he  arrives, 

Dancing-mastek,  to  the  dancers. 
And  you,  too,  — on  this  side. 

Music-master,  to  his  pupil. 

Is  it  finished  1 

Pupil. 
Yes. 

Music-master. 

Let  me  see ;  yes,  tliat  will  do. 


160  BOURGEOIS  GENTILHOMME       [Act  I 

DANCIJfG-MASTEB. 

Is  it  something  new  ? 

Music-master. 
An  air  for  a  serenade  which  I  told  him  to 
compose  while  waiting  for  our  man  to  wake  up. 

Dancing-master. 
May  I  see  it  ? 

Music-master. 
You  '11  hear  it,  with  the  dialogue,  when  he 
comes.     He  won't  be  long. 

Dancing-master. 
Our  occupations,  yours  and  mine,  are  not  to 
be  sneezed  at  now. 

Music-masteb. 

True.     We   have  found  a  man  exactly  such 

as   we  both   wanted.     He 's  a  nice  income  for 

us,    this   Monsieur   Jourdain,  with  the  visions 

of   nobility   and   gallantry  he  has  got  into  his 

head;  you,  with  your  dancing,  and  I,  with  my 

music,  might  well  wish  that  all  the  world  were 

like  him. 

Dancing-master. 

Not  altogether;  I   could  wish,    for   his  own 

sake,    he  knew  something  about  the  things  we 

do  for  him. 


Scene  I]     BOUEGEOIS  GENTILHOMME         161 
MUSIC-MASTEB. 

Yes,  yes,  he  knows  little,  but  lie  pays  much ; 

and  that 's  what  both  our  arts  want  more  than 

anything. 

Dancing-masteb. 

For  myself,  I  own  I  thirst  for  glory. 
Applause  inspires  me.  I  hold  that  in  all  the 
fine  arts  it  is  a  painful  trial  to  exhibit  one's  self 
to  fools,  and  to  be  forced  to  bear  the  barbarous 
ignorance  of  a  stupid  fellow  as  to  our  composi- 
tions. There  's  pleasure  —  and  you  can't  deny 
it  —  in  working  for  those  who  are  capable  of 
feeling  the  delicacies  of  an  art;  who  know  how 
to  sweetly  -s^^lcome  the  beauties  of  our  work 
and,  by  titillating  approbation,  to  reward  its 
toil.  Yes,  the  most  agreeable  recompense  we 
can  receive  for  the  things  we  do  is  to  see  them 
understood  and  cherished  by  an  applause  which 
does  justice  to  us.  There  is  nothmg  in  my 
opinion  which  pays  better  than  that  for  all  our 
efforts.     Enlightened  praise  is  exquisitely  sweet. 

MUSIC-MASTEB. 

I  '11  agree  to  that.     I  enjoy  it  fully  as  much 

as  you  do.     Certainly,  nothing  tickles  one  so 

pleasantly   as   applause.     But   incense   doesn't 

feed  us;  the   purest  praise  won't   give  a  man 

11 


162  BOURGEOIS   GENTILHOMME       [Act  I 

a  living;  you  have  to  mix  the  solid  with  it; 
and  the  best  sort  of  praise  is  purse  praise. 
This  man  of  ours  is,  to  be  sure,  a  man  whose 
lights  are  small,  who  talks  without  discern- 
ment about  everything,  applauding  where  he 
should  n't.  But  his  money  corrects  the  blun- 
ders of  his  mind ;  his  judgment  is  in  his  purse, 
his  praises  are  coins;  and  this  ignorant  nobody 
is  worth  much  more  to  us,  as  you  know  very 
well,  than  the  enlightened  lord  who  sent  us 
here. 

D  ANCING-MASTEK . 

There  's  certainly  some  truth  in  what  you 
say;  but  I  think  you  dwell  too  much  on 
money.  Self-interest  is  so  low  a  thing  that  a 
man  of  feeling  ought  not  to  show  such  great 
attachment  to  it. 

Music-master. 

But  you  take  very  readily  the  money  which 
our  good  man  gives  us. 

Dancing-masteb. 

Of  course  I  do;  but  I  don't  place  all  my 
happiness  on  that;  and  I  do  wish  that  with 
his  money  he  had  some  little  knowledge  or 
taste  in  art. 


ScenbH]   bourgeois  GENTLLHOMME       163 

music-masteb. 
I  wish  so  too,  and  that  is  just  what  you 
and  I  are  trying  as  best  we  can  to  give  him. 
Still,  in  any  case,  he  affords  us  an  opportunity 
to  get  known  in  the  world;  he  will  pay  for 
others  what  others  will  praise  for  him. 

Dancing-masteb. 
Here  he  comes. 


SCENE  SECOND 

Monsieur  Joubdain  in  night-cap  and  dressing-goivn, 
Music-master,  Dancing-master,  Pupil,  musicians, 
dancers,  lacqueys 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 
Hey?  hey?  gentlemen,  how   goes  it?    Will 
you  show  me  now  your  little  foolery  ? 

Dancing-master. 
Foolery !  what  little  foolery  1 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 
Hey?   hey!  —  what    do   you  call  it?  —  your 
prologue   or  dialogue   of  songs  and  dances. 

Dancing-master. 
Ah!  ah! 

MUSIC-MASTE». 

You  see  we  are  all  prepared. 


164  BOURGEOIS  GENTILHOMME       [Act  I 

Monsieur  Joubdain. 
I  've   kept   you   waiting  a   little    because   I 
wished   to   be   dressed   to-day   like   persons   of 
quality;   and    my    tailor    sent    me    some    silk 
stockings  I  tliought  I  never  should  get  on. 

Music-master. 
We  are  here  to  await  your  leisure. 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 

I  request  that  neither  of  you  will  go  away 

till  they  bring  my  coat,  so  that  you  may  see 

me  — 

Dancing-master. 

Whatever  you  wish. 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 
—  equipped  in  good  style,  from  head  to  foot. 

Music-master. 
We  do  not  doubt  it. 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 

I  had  this  calico  dressing-gown  made  expressly 

for  me. 

Dancing-master. 

It  is  very  handsome. 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 

My   tailor   tells   me   that   people    of  quality 
always  dress  like  tliis  in  the  morning. 


Scene  n]    BOURGEOIS  GENTILHOMME        165 

Music-master. 
It  becomes  you  wonderfully. 

MONSIEUB''jOURDAIlf. 

Lacqueys!  hola,  my  two  lacqueys! 

FiKST  Lacquey. 
What  is  it,  monsieur? 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 
Nothing.      It  was  only  to  see  if  you  heard 
me.     (To  the  music-master  and  the  dancing- 
master)  What  do  you  think  of  my  liveries  ? 

Dancing-master. 
They  are  magnificent. 

Monsieur  Jourdain,  opening  his  gown  and 
showing  a  pair  of  narrow  red  velvet 
breeches  and  a  waistcoat  of  green  velvet. 

See,  this  is  a  little  dishabille  for  the  morning, 
to  do  my  exercises  in. 

Music-master. 
It  is  very  genteel. 

Monsieur  JouRDAiir. 

Lacquey ! 

First  Lacquey. 
Monsieur. 


166  BOURGEOIS  GENTILHOMME        [Act  I 

Monsieur  Joubdais". 
The  other  lacquey  ! 

Second  IjAcquey. 
Monsieur. 

Monsieur  Jourdain,  taking  off  his 
dressing-gown. 

Hold  my  gown.  (To  the  music-master  and 
the  dancing-master)  Do  you  think  I  look  well 
like  this? 

Dancing-master. 

Very  well;  you  could  n't  be  better. 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 
Now  let  me  see  your  little  affairs. 

Music-master. 
First,  I  wish  you  to  hear  an  air  which  he 
{motioning  to  his  piipiV)  has  composed  for  the 
serenade  you  asked  for.  He  is  one  of  my 
scholars,  and  has  an  admirable  talent  for  this 
sort  of  thing. 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 
Yes,  but  you  should  n't  have  had  it  done  by 
a  scholar;   you  are  none  too  good  yourself  for 
the  work. 


Scene  n]    BOURGEOIS  GENTILHOMME        167 

Music-master. 
You  must  not  misunderstand  the  word  scholar, 
monsieur.     This  kind  of  scholar  knows  as  much 
as  the  greatest  masters  ;  the  air  he  has  composed 
is  as  fine  as  can  be.     Listen. 

Monsieur  Jourdain,  to  his  lacquey. 
Give  me   my  dressing-gown  to   listen  in  — 
Stay,  I  think  I  '11  be  ^tter  without  it.     No, 
give  it  to  me,   that  will  be  best. 

Musician,  sings. 

I  languish  night  and  day,  and  weep  for  woe, 
Since  your  fine  eyes  inflict  such  cruelties  ; 

Fair  Iris,  if  you  treat  your  lover  so, 
What  fate  will  overtake  your  enemies'? 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 
That  seems  to  me  rather  doleful ;  it  puts  one 
to   sleep.      I'd   like   you   to  make   it   a   trifle 
merrier  here  and  there. 

Music-master. 

Monsieur,    the  air  must  adapt   itself  to   the 

words. 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 

I  learned  a  tune  that  was  really  pretty,   once 

upon  a  time.     Stop!  —  how  did  it  go] 

Dancing-master, 
Faith!     I  don't  know. 


168  BOURGEOIS  GENTILHOMME       [Act  I 

Monsieur  Jouedain". 
There 's  a  sheep  in  it. 

Dancing-mas  TEB. 
A  sheep  1 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 

Yes  —  ah!  this  is  it:  (Sings.) 

I  thought  #eanneton, 
Pretty,  kind,  and  sweet ; 
I  thought  Jeanneton 
Meeker  than  a  sheep. 
•  Alas  !  Alas  ! 

She 's  deep, 
And  a  thousand  times  more  cruel 
Than  a  tiger  in  his  leap. 

Pretty,  is  n't  it? 

Music-master. 
Prettiest  thing  in  the  world. 

DaNCING-M  ASTER. 

And  you  sing  it  so  well. 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 
I  never  learned  to  sing,  either. 

Music-master. 
You  ought  to  learn  music,   monsieur,  as  well 
as  dancing ;  the  two  arts  are  in  close  communion 
with  each  other. 


Scene  n]    BOURGEOIS  GENTILHOMME        169 

Dancing-masteb. 
And  open  the  mind  of  man  to  great  things. 

Monsieur  Joubdain. 
Do  people  of  quality  learn  music  1 

MUSIC-MASTEB. 

Yes,  monsieur. 

MONSIEUB  JOUEDAIN. 

Then  I  '11  learn  it.  But  I  don't  know  what 
time  I  can  take  for  it;  for  besides  a  fencing- 
master  who  is  to  show  me  how,  I  have  engaged 
a  professor  of  philosophy  and  he  's  to  begin  this 
morning. 

MUSIC-MASTBB. 

Philosophy  is  something ;  but  music,  monsieur, 
mucjic  — 

Dancing-masteb. 

Music  and  dancing  —  music  and  dancing  are 
the  essentials. 

MUSIC-MASTEB. 

There 's  nothing  more  useful  to  the  State 
than  music. 

Dancing-masteb. 

There 's  nothing  so  necessary  to  man  as 
dancing. 


170  BOURGEOIS  GENTILHOMME       [Act  I 

MUSIC-MASTEE. 

Without  music  a  State  cannot  exist. 

Dancing-master. 
Without  dancing  men  could  n't  live. 

Music-master. 
All  tumults,  all  wars,  result  from  people  not 
having  learned  music. 

Dancing-master. 
All  the  troubles  of  men,  all  the   fatal   mis- 
fortunes of  which  history  is  full,  the  blunders 
of  politicians,  the  failures  of  great  generals,  are 
for  want  of  knowing  how  to  dance. 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 
Why  so  1 

Music-master. 
War  comes  from  a  want  of  harmony  among 
men  — 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 
That 's  true. 

Music-master. 
And  if  all  men  learned  music,  would  not  that 
be  a  means  of  harmonizing  them  and  bringing 
universal  peace  upon  earth? 


Scene  U]    BOURGEOIS  GENTILHOMME        171 
MOXSIEUR    JOURDAIN. 

You  are  right. 

Dancing-master. 

When  a  man  has  committed  a  mistake  in 
his  behavior,  whether  in  his  family,  or  in  the 
government  of  a  State,  or  in  the  command  of 
an  army,  don't  people  say:  Such  a  one  has 
made  a  false  step  in  that  affair? 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 
Yes,  they  say  that. 

Dancing-master. 
Well,  making  a  false  step  must  proceed  from 
not  knowing  how  to  dance. 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 
Very  true;  you  are,  both  of  you,  right. 

Dancing-master. 
We  want  you  to  understand  the  excellence  of 
dancing  and  music. 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 
I  understand  it  now. 

Music-master. 
Will  it  please  you  to  see  our  two  performances  ? 


172  BOURGEOIS  GENTILHOMME        [Act  I 

Monsieur  Joubdain. 
Yes. 

Music-master. 

As  I  have  already  told  you,  mine  is  a  little 
attempt  made  to  show  what  divers  passions 
music  can  express. 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 
Very  good. 

Music-master,  to  musicians. 

Advance.  (To  Monsieur  Jourdain)  Be 
pleased  to  imagine  that  they  are  dressed  as 
shepherds. 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 

Why  shepherds  1  that 's  so  common. 

Music-master. 

When  we  have  personages  whom  we  make 
talk  in  music  we  are  obliged  to  take  to  pastorals. 
Song  has,  in  all  ages,  been  attributed  to 
shepherds.  It  is  not  at  all  natural  that  noble- 
men, or  even  bourgeois  should  sing  their 
passions. 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 

Well,  well;  go  on. 


ScEKElI]    BOURGEOIS  GENTILHOMME        173 
DIALOGUE  IN  MUSIC 

A   FEMALE    MUSICIAN   AND   TWO    MALE    MUSICIANS 

Female  Musician. 
A  heart  in  the  courts  of  Love 

Is  tossed  by  a  thousand  fears  ; 

'T  is  said  that  we  take  our  ease, 

And  revel  in  sighs  and  tears : 

But  oh  !  no,  no. 

They  may  say  what  they  please. 

There 's  nought  so  sweet  as  our  liberties. 

First  Musician. 
There 's  nought  so  sweet  as  the  tender  bond 
Which  binds  two  hearts 
That  are  kind  and  fond. 
Earth  hath  no  joy  without  desire  ; 
Take  love  from  life 
And  you  kill  its  fire. 

Second  Musician. 
*T  were  sweet  to  enter  the  courts  of  Love, 
And  lift  one's  heart  to  a  heart  above, 
"Were  truth  and  faith  repaid  ; 

But  alas  and  alas  ! 
Where  can  I  find  a  faithful  maid  ? 
That  sex  inconstant,  and  fickle,  and  vain, 
'T  were  best  to  renounce 
And  peace  to  gain. 

First  Musician. 
Ardor  imutterable ! 


174  BOURGEOIS  GENTILIIOMME       [Acx  I 

Female  Musician. 
Frankness  incomparable ! 

Second  Musician. 
Falsehood  dishonorable ! 

First  Musician. 
Precious  thou  art  to  me  ! 

Female  Musician. 
Dear  is  thy  love  to  me ! 

Second  Musician. 
Horror  I  feel  for  thee ! 

First  Musician. 
Leave  this  horror,  I  pray,  unsaid; 

Female  Musician. 
"We  will  find  thee  a  faithful  maid ; 

Second  Musician. 
If  I  meet  her  my  vows  are  paid. 

Female  Musician. 

To  save  our  fame 
I  offer  my  heart. 

Second  Musician. 

Canst  thou  convince  me. 
And  faith  impart  1 


Scene  II]    BOURGEOIS  GENTILHOMME         175 

Female  Musician. 

Try,  by  experience, 
WMch  of  us  two  can  love  enow. 

Second  Musician. 

May  the  gods  destroy 
Which  of  us  two  betrays  the  vow. 

All  Thkee  Togethek. 

'T  is  rare  to  meet 
With  lasting  love  on  mutual  ground ; 
How  sweet,  how  sweet. 
It  is  to  meet 
When  two  fond  hearts  are  faithful  found ! 


Monsieur  JouEDAiif. 
Is  that  all? 

MUSIC-MASTKK. 

Yes. 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 

I  think  it  is  well  enough  put  together;  there 
are  some  pretty  little  maxims  in  it. 

I^ANCING-MASTER. 

And  now  for  my  affair.  This,  monsieur,  is  an 
attempt  to  show  the  beautiful  attitudes  and  fine 
movements  by  which  dancing  can  be  varied. 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 
Are  these  shepherds,  too  1 


176  BOURGEOIS  GENTILHOMME       [Act  I 

Dancing-masteb. 
That 's   as  you   please.       {To   the   dancers) 
Begin. 

Ballet. 

Four  dancers  execute  the  various  steps  and 
movements  which  the  dancing-master  orders. 

END    OF    ACT   FIRST.  ^ 


1  The  acts  of  this  play  are  separated  by  interludes 
after  the  fashion  of  the  classic  drama ;  and  as  the  same 
personages  continue  on  the  stage,  it  would  be  easy  to 
make  the  five  acts  into  one.  The  "  Bourgeois  Gen- 
tilhomme  "  is  really  a  play  in  one  act  divided  by 
ballets.  No  other  work  of  Moliere's  presents  this 
singularity.  —  Aime  Maetin. 


scenbI]    bourgeois  GENTILHOMME        177 


^ct  &ttonti 


SCENE  FIRST 

monsebur     jouedain,      the     music-master,      the 
Dancing-mastek 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 
Well   now,    that's   not   bad;  those   fellows 
frisk  about  pretty  well. 

Music-master. 
When  that  dance  is  given  with  its  music,  the 
effect  will  be  better  still ;  and  you  will  see  some- 
thing really  chivalrous  in  the   little  ballet  we 
have   arranged  for  you. 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 

And  that  will  be  very  soon;  the  person  for 

whom  I  am  preparing  all  this  is  to  dine  with 

me  to-day. 

Dancing-master. 

All  is  ready  for  the  occasion. 

Music-master. 
But,  monsieur,  one  occasion  is  not  sufficient. 
A  person  like  you,  who  is  magnificent  and  has 
12 


178  BOURGEOIS  GENTILHOMME      [Act  II 

an  inclination  toward  splendid  things,  should 
give  a  concert  at  your  house  every  Wednesday 
or  Thursday. 

Monsieur  Joubdain. 
Do  people  of  quality  give  concerts  1 

MUSIC-MASTEB. 

Yes,  monsieur, 

MONSIEUB    JOUBDAIN. 

Then  I  shall  give  them.     Will  they  be  fine  ? 

Music-master. 

Undoubtedly.  You  will  need  three  voices: 
a  treble,  a  counter-tenor,  and  a  bass,  accom- 
panied by  a  bass-viol,  a  theorbo,  a  harpsichord 
for  the  continued  bass,  and  a  couple  of  treble- 
violins  to  play  the  air. 

Monsieur  Joubdain. 

Yes,  but  you  must  have  a  trombone.  A 
trombone  is  an  instrument  that  pleases  me; 
it  is  very  harmonious. 

Music-master. 
You  must  let  us  manage  these  things.  . 


Scene  I]    BOURGEOIS  GENTILHOMME  179 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 
Well,  don't  forget  to  send  me  musicians  who 
are  to  play  while  we  are  at  dinner. 

Music-master. 
You  shall  have  all  you  wish. 

Monsieur   Jourdain. 
Above  all,  the  ballet  must  be  fine. 

Music-master. 

You  shall  be  satisfied,  —  especially  with  the 
minuet. 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 

Ah,  ha!  tlic  minuet  is  my  particular  dance. 
I  want  you  to  see  me  dance  it.  Come,  dancing- 
master. 

Dancing-master. 

"We  want  a  hat,  monsieur,  if  you  please. 
(Monsieur  Jourdain  takes  the  hat  of  his  lac- 
quey, and  puts  it  on  over  his  night-cap.  Then 
the  dancing-master  takes  his  hands  and  makes 
him  dance  to  the  time  of  the  minuet,  which  he 
sings.)  La,  la,  la;  la,  la,  la;  la,  la,  la,  la,  la,  la; 
la,  la,  la;  la,  la,  la;  la,  la,  la,  la,  la,  la;  la  la, 
la,  la,  la.  Keep  time,  if  you  please.  La,  la, 
la,  la,  la.  Right  leg,  la,  la,  la.  Don't  move 
your  shoulders  so  much.     La,  la,  la;   la,  la,  la; 


180  BOURGEOIS  GENTILHOMME      [Act  II 

la,  la,  la,  la.  Your  arms  look  deformed.  La, 
la,  la,  la,  la.  Raise  your  head.  Turn  out  your 
toes.     La,  la,  la.     Straighten  your  body. 

Monsieur  Jouedain,  to  music-master. 
Hey !  what  do  you  think  of  that  ? 

MUSIC-MASTEB. 

It  could  n't  be  better. 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 
By  the  bye,  teach  me  how  to  make  a   bow 
when   I   salute   a   marchioness;    I   shall    have 
need   of  it   before   long. 

Dancing-master. 
A  bow  to  salute  a  marchioness  ? 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 

Yes,  —  a  marchioness,  whose  name  is  Dori- 

m^ne. 

Dancing-master. 

Give  me  your  hand. 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 

No,  you  do  it,  and  let  me  see  how;   I  shall 

remember. 

Dancing-master. 

Well,  if  you  wish  to   salute   her  with  great 

respect,  you  must  first  bow  at  a  distance,  step- 


ScBSElII]    BOURGEOIS  GENTILHOMME       181 

ping  backward;  then  you  advance  toward  her, 
making  three  bows;  at  the  third  you  bend 
low,    to   her   knees. 

Monsieur  Joubdain. 
Just  do  it.    {The  dancing-master  makes  three 

bows.)  Good. 

— • — 

SCENE  SECOND 

MOKSIBUR  JOURDAIN,  MuSIC-MASTEK,  DaNCING-MASTEK, 
A  LACQUEY 

Lacquey. 

Monsieur,  your  fencing-master  is  here. 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 
Tell  him  to  come  in  and  give  me  my  lesson. 
(  To  the  music-master  and  the  dancing-master) 
Stay ;  I  want  you  to  see  me  do  it. 


SCENE  THIRD 

MoNSiBUR  Jourdain,  Music-master,  Dancing-master, 
Fencing  master,  Lacquey,  carrying  two  foils 

Fencing-master,  after  taking  two  foils  from 
the  lacquey,  and  giving  one  to  Monsieur 
Jourdain. 
Come,  monsieur,  your  salute.     Body  straight 

Rest  on  the  left  hip  a  little.     Legs  not  so  wide 


182  BOURGEOIS   GENTILHOMME      [Act  U 

apart.  Feet  on  the  same  line.  Wrist  against 
the  thigh.  Point  of  blade  at  the  shoulder. 
Arm  not  quite  so  stiff.  Left  hand  at  the 
height  of  the  eye.  Left  shoulder  well  out; 
Head  erect.  Eye  steady.  Advance.  Body 
firm.  Touch  me  the  blade  in  quarte  and  finish 
the  same.  One,  two.  Recover.  Double,  firm 
on  the  left  foot.  Backward.  When  you  make 
a  thrust,  monsieur,  the  sword  must  start  first ; 
hold  the  body  well  back.  Now:  One,  two. 
Touch  me  the  blade  in  tierce  and  finish  the 
same.  Advance.  Body  firm.  Advance.  Start 
from  there.  One,  two.  Recover.  Double. 
One,  two.  Back.  On  guard,  monsieur,  on 
guard!  \_The  fencing-master  makes  two  or 
three  lunges  at  him,  calling  outy  On  guard  Q 

Monsieur  Jourdain,  out  of  breath. 
There !  what  do  you  think  of  that  t 

Music-master. 
You  do  wonders. 

Fencing-master. 

I  have  already  told  you  that  the  whole  secret 
of  fencing  lies  in  two  things  only,  —  to  give,  and 
not  to  receive;  and,  as  I  showed  you  the  other 


Scene  III]    BOURGEOIS  GENTILHOMME       183 

day  by  demonstrative  reason,  it  is  impossible 
that  you  can  receive  if  you  know  how  to  turn 
the  sword  of  your  opponent  from  the  line  of 
your  own  body;  which  depends  solely  on  a 
little  turn  of  the  wrist  outward  or  inward. 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 
And  in  that  way  can  a  man  who  has  n't  any 
courage  be  sure  of  killing  his  adversary  with- 
out being  killed   himself? 

Fencing-master. 
Quite  sure;    did  you  not  see  the  demonstra- 
tion? 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 
Yes. 

Fencing-master. 
From  that  you  can  judge  of  the  distinguished 
position  we   hold   in   the    State,  and   how  the 
science   of   fencing   stands   high   above   all  the 
other  useless  arts,  like  dancing,   music,   or  — 

Dancing-master. 
Stop,  stop!   Not  so   fast,    Mr.    Swordsman. 
Speak  respectfully  of  dancing. 

Music-master. 
Learn,  if  you  please,  to  treat  music  properly. 


184  BOUKGEOIS  GENTILHOMME      [Act  II 

Fbncing-masteb. 
You   are   a   pretty  couple   to   compare  your 
sciences  with  mine. 

MUSIC-MASTEB. 

Just  look  at  his  conceit ! 

Dancing-mastee. 

What  a  funny  animal,  with  that  plastron  of 

his! 

Fencing-master. 

My  little   dancing-master,   I  '11   teach  you  to 

dance  to   another   tune.     And   you,    my  little 

music-master,    I  '11  make  you  sing  small. 

Dancing-master. 
And  I  '11  teach  you  your  own  trade. 

Monsieur    Jourdain. 
What  fools  you   both  are  to  quarrel  with  a 
man  who  knows  quarte  and  tierce  and  can  kill 
his  enemy  by  demonstrative  reason. 

Dancing-master. 
I  don't  care  a  fig  for  his  demonstrative  reason, 
or  his  tierce  or  his  quarte. 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 
Gently,  gently,  I  tell  you. 


Scene  III]    BOURGEOIS  GENTILHOMME       185 

Fencing-master,  to  dancing -master. 
"What !   you  impertinent  little  fellow  I 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 
Hey!  my  fencing-master. 

Dancing-master,  to  fencing-master. 
What !  you  great  coach-horse ! 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 
Hey!  my  dancing-master. 

Fencing-master. 
If  I  just  fling  myself  at  you  — 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 
Softly,  softly. 

Dancing-master. 
Let  me  just  get  my  hand  upon  you  — 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 
There!  there!  gently. 

Fencing-master. 
I  '11  give  you  such  a  thrashing  ! 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 
Oh!  pray  — 

Dancing-master. 
I  '11  rub  you  down  in  such  a  way ! 


186  BOUEGEOIS  GENTILHOMME      t^ci  U 

Monsieur  JouBDAiiir. 
I  beg  of  you  — 

Music -MASTER. 
We  '11  teach  him  to  talk ! 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 

Good  gracious !  do  stop  — 


SCENE  FOURTH 

Professor  of  Philosophy,  Monsieur  Jourdain, 
Music-master,  Dancing-master,  Fencing-master, 
Lacquey 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 
Ha  !  philosopher,  you  've  come  just  in  time 
with    your    philosophy.      Please    make    peace 
here  among  these  people. 

Professor  of  Philosophy. 

What  is  it  ?  What 's  the  matter,  gentlemen  1 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 
They  are  in  a  fury  about  which  of  their  pro- 
fessions is  the  best ;  they  are  insulting  each  other 
and  want  to  come  to  blows. 

Professor  of  Philosophy. 
Hey,    what  a  thing   that  is!     Why  do  you 
get  so  angry  ?    Have  you  never  read  the  learned 


Scene  IV]    BOURGEOIS  GENTILHOMME      187 

treatise  of  Seneca  against  auger  ?  There 's 
nothing  so  low  and  shameful  as  that  passion, 
which  makes  a  man  a  brute  beast.  Reason 
ought  to  be  master  of  all  our  actions. 

Dancing-master. 

What!  when  that  man  comes  here  and  says 
insulting  things  to  both  of  us,  and  despises 
dancing  which  is  my  profession,  and  music 
which  is  monsieur's,  are  we  to  say  nothing? 

Professor  of  Philosophy. 

A  wise  man  is  above  insult;  the  grand 
response  that  should  be  made  to  all  such  out- 
rage is  patience  and  moderation. 

Fencing-master. 

They  both  had  the  audacity  to  compare  their 
professions  with  mine. 

Professor  of  Philosophy. 

Why  need  that  stir  your  bile  ?  Men  ought 
not  to  contend  over  the  vain  glories  and  con- 
ditions of  the  world.  The  qualities  which 
should  distinguish  us  among  our  fellows  are 
virtue  and  wisdom. 


188  BOUKGEOIS  GENTILHOMME      [Act  H 

Dancing-master. 

I    maintain   to   his   face   that  dancing    is   a 

science  to   which   too   much   honor   cannot   be 

paid. 

Music-master. 

And  I  say  that  music  is  a  science  which  the 

the  ages  have  revered. 

Pencing-master. 
And   I   tell   them,  both   of  them,    that  the 
science   of  fencing  is  the  finest  and  the  most 
necessary  that  exists  upon  this  earth. 

Professor  of  Philosohy. 
And  pray  what  is  philosophy  ?  I  think  you 
are  all  three  very  impertinent  to  speak  before 
me  with  such  arrogance,  and  to  impudently 
give  the  name  of  science  to  things  which  don't 
even  deserve  to  be  honored  with  the  name  of 
art, — mere  pitiful  trades,  to  be  classed  with 
wrestlers,  fiddlers,   mountebanks. 

Fencing-master. 
Out  of  here,  dog  of  a  philosopher! 

Music-master. 
Out  of  here,  scoundrel  of  a  pedant! 

Dancing-master. 
Hence,  arrant  knave  of  a  jackass! 


ScBinsIV]    BOURGEOIS  GENTILHOMME       189 

Professor  of  Philosophy. 

What!  rabble  that  you  are !  [TAe  philoso- 
pher flings  himself  upon  the  others^  who 
pommel  himJ] 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 
Oh,  professor  !  philosopher ! 

Professor  of  Philosophy. 
Infamous  wretches,  rascals !  — 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 
Philosopher ! 

Fencing-master. 
The  brute  beast  — 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 

Gentlemen ! 

Professor  ot  Philosophy. 
Impudent  scoundrels! 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 
Professor  I  philosopher ! 

Dancing-masteb. 
Booby  of  a  pack-mule !  — 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 
Gentlemen  I 


190  BOURGEOIS  GENTILHOMME      [Act  II 

Professor  of  Philosophy. 
Arrant  villains !  — 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 
Philosopher ! 

Music-master. 
To  the  devil  with  his  insolence !  — 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 
Gentlemen ! 

Professor  of  Philosophy. 

Knaves  !  beggars !  traitors !  impostors ! 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 
Philosopher!  gentlemen!  philosopher!  gentle- 
men !  philosopher ! 

[^Exeunt  the  professors  fighting.^ 


SCENE  FIFTH 
Monsieur  Jourdain,  Lacquey 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 
Well,  well !  you  may  fight  as  much  as  you 
like,  I  can't  help  it;  and  I  'm  not  going  to  spoil 
my  dressing-gown  by  separating  you.  I  should 
be  a  fool  indeed  to  stick  myself  between  you 
and  get  a  knock  which  might  hurt  me. 


scknbvi]    bourgeois  GENTILHOMME     191 

SCENE   SIXTH. 

Pkofessor  of  Philosophy,  Monsieur  Jourdain, 
Lacquey 

Professor  of  Philosophy,  adjusting  his 
collar. 
Now  for  our  lesson. 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 
Ah !  monsieur,  I  am  sorry  they  beat  you. 

Professor  of  Philosophy, 
Oh  !  that 's  nothing.  A  philosopher  knows 
how  to  take  things ;  I  shall  compose  a  satire  on 
them  in  the  style  of  Juvenal,  which  will  tear 
them  to  bits  in  a  fine  fashion.  Let  us  drop 
all  that.      Now,  what  do  you  wish  to  learn  ? 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 
All  I  can.      I  have  the  strongest  desire  in  the 
world   to   be   learned.     I   am  furious  with  my 
parents  because  they  did  not  make  me  study  all 
the  sciences  when  I  was  young. 

Professor  of  Philosophy. 
That  is  a  most  reasonable  sentiment;  nam, 
sine  doctrina,    vita   est   quasi  mortis  imago. 
You    understand    that?    you    know   Latin,    of 
course  ? 


192  BOURGEOIS  GENTILHOMME      [Act  II 

Monsieur  Joukdain. 
Yes;    but    do    as   if    I   did   not    know    it. 
Explain  to  me  what  that  means. 

Pkofessok  of  Philosophy. 
It  means  that  without  knowledge  life  is  almost 
an  image  of  death. 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 
Then  Latin  is  right. 

Professor  of  Philosophy. 
You  know,  of  course,  some  of  the  elements, 
the  beginnings  of  the  various  sciences. 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 
Oh,  yes ;  I  can  read  and  write. 

Professor  of  Philosophy. 
Where  do  you  wish  to  begin?     Should  you 
like  me  to  teach  you  logic? 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 
Logic ;  what  is  logic  ? 

Professor  of  Philosophy. 

It  teaches  the  three  operations  of  the  mind. 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 
What  are  they,  —  those  three   operations  of 
the  mind? 


ScKjntVri    BOURGEOIS  GENTILHO^IME       193 

Professor  of  Philosophy. 

First,  second,  and  third.  The  first  is  to 
rightly  conceive  by  means  of  predications;  the 
second  is  to  rightly  judge  by  means  of  cate- 
gories ;  the  third  is  to  draw  deductions  rightly  by 
means  of  premises:  Barbara,  Celerent,  Darii, 
Ferio,  Saralipton. 

Monsieur  Jourdian. 

Those  words  are  too  hard  and  crabbed. 
Logic  doesn't  please  me.  Teach  me  some- 
thing prettier. 

Professor  of  Philosophy. 
Should  you  like  to  study  ethics  ? 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 
Ethics] 

Professor  of  Philosophy. 
Yes. 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 

What  are  they  about,  —  ethics  1 

Professor  of  Philosophy. 

It  is  a  science  which  treats  of  morality,  of 
happiness;  it  teaches  men  to  moderate  their 
passions,  and  — 

IS 


194  BOURGEOIS  GENTILHOMME      [Act  U 

Monsieur  Jourdaist. 
No,   never  mind   that.       I  'm   as  bilious   as 
forty   devils,    and   morality  won't   help   it.     I 
choose   to  get    as  angry   as   I   please  when   it 
suits  me. 

Professor  of  Philosophy. 
Perhaps  you  would  rather  take  physics  1 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 
What  are  they, —  physics,  I  mean. 

Professor  of  Philosophy. 
Physics  is  the  science  which  explains  the 
principles  of  natural  things  and  the  properties 
of  matter;  it  reasons  on  the  nature  of  elements, 
metals,  minerals,  stones,  plants,  animals;  and 
it  teaches  us  the  causes  of  meteors,  cornets, 
falling  stars,  the  rainbow,  thunder,  lightning, 
rain,  snow,  hail,  wind,  and  tempests. 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 
Oh,  no;  too  much  clatter  in  all  that;  there  'a 
neither  head  nor  tail  to  it. 

Professor  of  Philosophy. 
Then  what  do  you  want  me  to  teach  you  ? 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 
Teach  me  spelling. 


Scene  VI]    BOUEGEOIS  GENTILHOMME       195 

Professor  of  Philosophy. 
So  be  it.  To  carry  out  your  idea  and  treat 
this  matter  philosophically  we  must  begin, 
according  to  the  order  of  things,  by  an  exact 
knowledge  of  the  nature  of  letters  and  the 
different  ways  of  pronouncing  them.  On  that 
point  therefore,  I  begin  by  telling  you  that 
letters  are  divided  into  vowels —  so-called  be- 
cause they  express  the  voice  —  and  consonants, 
called  consonants  because  they  sound  with  the 
vowels  and  serve  to  mark  the  different  articu- 
lations of  the  voice.  There  are  five  vowels, 
or  voices,  namely:  A,  E,   I,   0,   U.* 

MOXSIEUR   JOURDAIN. 

I  understand  all  that. 

Professor  of  Philosophy. 
The   vowel   A   is    sounded  by   opening   the 
mouth  very  wide, —  A. 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 
A,  A.     Yes. 

Professor  of  Philosophy. 
The   vowel  E   is   sounded   by   bringing   the 
lo'v^er  jaw  to  the  upper  jaw, —  A,  E. 

'  The  French  sound  of  the  vowels  must  of  course  be 
^,  JA,E,I,0,U. 

J  R,  A,  E,  0,  EU.  — [Tr.] 


196  BOURGEOIS  GENTILHOMME     [Act  II 

Monsieur  Joubdain. 
A,  E ;  A,  E.     Bless  me !     How  fine  that  is ! 

Professor  op  Philosophy. 
The  vowel  I  is  formed  by  bringing  the  jaws 
still  nearer  together,  and  stretching  the  corners 
of  the  mouth  toward  the  ears, —  A,  E,  I. 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 
A,  E,  I,  I,  I,  I.     That 's  true.     Hurrah  for 
science ! 

Professor  op  Philosophy. 
The   vowel  O    is   sounded   by   opening  the 
jaws  and  drawing  in  the  lips  at  the  two  cor- 
ners,—  0. 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 
0,  0.    Nothing  could  be  more  true.    A,  E,  I, 
O,  I,  0.     It  is  admirable!     I,  0;  I,  0. 

Professor  of  Philosophy. 
The   mouth  must  be   opened  exactly  like  a 
round  0. 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 
0,  0,  0.     You  are  right.     0,—  ah  !  what  a 
fine  thing  it  is  to  know  something  ! 

Professor  op  Philosophy. 
The   vowel   U   is   sounded  by  bringing  the 
teeth  near   together   without   precisely  joining 


Scene  VI]    BOURGEOIS  GENTILHOMME       197 

them,  and  stretching  the  lips  wider,  also  bring- 
ing them  together,  but  not  quite  touching 
them,  0,   U. 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 
O,  U,  U;  the  truest  thing  that  ever  was, — U. 

Professor  op  Philosophy. 

Both  your  lips  should  be  stretched  out  as  if 

you  were  making  a  grimace;    so   that   if  you 

should  ever  want  to  make  a  face  at  any  one 

and  ridicule  him  you  have  only  to  say  "  U. " 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 
U,    U.     True  enough.     Ah!  why  didn't  I 
learn  that  in  my  youth? 

Professor  of  Philosophy. 
To-morrow  we  will   take   the   other  letters, 
which  are  consonants. 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 
Are  there  as  many  queer  things  in  them  as 
in  the  others? 

Professor  of  Philosophy. 
Undoubtedly.    The  consonant  D,  for  instance, 
is  pronounced  by  putting  the  tip  of  the  tongue 
against  the  upper  teeth, —  D. 


198  BOURGEOIS  GENTILHOMME      [Act  II 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 

D,  D,  D.  Yes;  oh,  what  fine  things!  what 
fine  things ! 

Professor  of  Philosophy. 
F  is  given  by  applying  the  upper  teeth  out- 
side of  the  lower  lip, —  F,   F. 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 
F,    F.     Most   true.      Ah!    my   father   and 
mother,  how  furious  I  am  with  you! 

Professor  of  Philosophy. 

E.  is  pronounced  by  carrying  the  tip  of  the 
tongue  to  the  roof  of  the  mouth ;  so  that  the  air, 
coming  out  with  force,  rolls  over  it  and  pushes 
it  back,  making  a  tremulous  sort  of  sound, — 
E,  EA. 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 
E,  E,   EA;  E,  E,   E,  E,  E,  EA.     True. 
Ah  !  what  a  clever  man  you  are ;  and  how  much 
time  I  have  lost.     E,  E,  E,  EA. 

Professor  of  Philosophy. 
I  will  fully  explain  these  singularities  to  you 
later. 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 
I  beg  you   to   do   so.      And   now   I    must 
make  you  a  confidence.     I  am  in  love  with  a 


Scene  VI]    BOURGEOIS  GENTILHOMME       199 

lady  of  high  rank,  and  I  want  you  to  help  me 
to  write  her  a  little  note  in  which  I  desire  to 
throw  myself  at  her  feet. 

Professor  of  Philosophy. 

Certainly. 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 
*T  would  be  very  gallant,  wouldn't  iti 

Professor  of  Philosophy. 

Undoubtedly.      Do  you  want  to  write  it  in 

verse  1 

Monsieur  Jouedain. 

No,  no,  not  verse. 

Professor  of  Philosophy. 
You  prefer  prose  ? 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 
No,  I  don't  want  either  prose  or  verse. 

Professor  of  Philosophy. 
But  you  must  have  one  or  the  other. 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 
Why? 

Professor  of  Philosophy. 
Because,   monsieur,  there  is  no  other  way  to 
express  ourselves  than  prose  or  verse. 


200  BOURGEOIS  GENTILHOMME      [Act  II 

Monsieur  Jouedain. 
Is  there  nothing  but  prose  and  verse  1 

Professor  of  Philosophy. 

Nothing,  monsieur.  All  that  is  not  prose  is 
verse ;  all  that  is  not  verse  is  prose. 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 
When  we  talk,  what  is  that? 

Professor  of  Philosophy. 
Prose. 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 

"What!  when  I  say,  "Nicole,  bring  my 
slippers,  and  give  me  my  night-cap,"  is  that 
prose  ? 

Professor  of  Philosophy. 

Yes,  monsieur. 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 

Goodness!  then  I  've  been  talking  prose  these 
forty  years  without  ever  knowing  it.  I  am  sure 
I  am  very  much  obliged  to  you  for  teaching 
me  that.  I  want  to  say  in  my  note  to  this 
great  lady:  "Beautiful  marchioness,  your  fine 
eyes  make  me  die  of  love."  But  1  want  it 
put  in  a  gallant  manner,  —  turned  genteelly. 


ScBinsVI]    BOURGEOIS  GENTILHOMME       201 

Pbofessor  of  Philosophy. 
Exactly.     Say  that  the  fire  of  her  fine  eyes 
has  reduced  your  heart  to  ashes,  and  that  you 
suffer  day  and  night  the  tortures  of  — 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 
Kg,  no,  no;  I  don't  want  all  that.     I  want 
only  what  I  told  you :    "  Beautiful  marchioness, 
your  fine  eyes  make  me  die  of  love." 

Professor  of  Philosophy. 
But  it  ought  to  be  elaborated  a  little. 

Monsieur  Joubdain. 
No,  no,  I  tell  you.  I  want  nothing  in  the 
note  except  those  words;  but  they  must  be 
turned  in  a  way  to  suit  the  quality,  —  arranged 
with  style.  I  wish  you  would  tell  me  the 
different  ways  in  which  they  can  be  put;  then 
I  can  choose. 

Professor  of  Philosophy. 
Well,  they  can  be  put,  in  the  first  place,  as 
you  said  yourself:  "Beautiful  marchioness, 
your  fine  eyes  make  me  die  of  love. "  Or  else : 
"  Of  love  make  me  die,  beautiful  marchioness, 
your  fine  eyes. "  Or  else :  "  Your  fine  eyes  of 
love    make   me,    beautiful    marchioness,    die." 


202  BOURGEOIS  GENTILMOMME     [Act  II 

Or  else:  "Die,  your  fine  eyes,  beautiful  mar- 
chionesss,  of  love  make  me. "  Or  else :  "  Me 
make  your  fine  eyes  die,  beautiful  marchioness, 
of   love." 

Monsieur  Joubdain. 
Which  of  all  those  ways  do  you  think  best  ? 

Professor  of  Philosophy. 

The  one  you  said  yourself :   "Beautiful  mar- 
chioness, your  fine  eyes  make  me  die  of  love. " 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 
And  yet   I  never   studied   anything,    and   I 
made  that  all  up  in  a  minute!     I  thank  you 
with  all  my  heart,  and  I  should  like  you  to 
come  early  to-morrow  morning. 

Professor  of  Philosophy. 
I  shall  not  fail  to  do  so. 


SCENE  SEVENTH 
MoNsiEUK  Jourdain,  Lacquey 

Monsieur  Jourdain,  to  lacquey. 
Has  n't  my  coat  come  yet  ? 

Lacquey. 
No,  monsieur. 


SCENE  VIII]   BOURGEOIS  GENTILHOMME     203 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 
That  cursfed  tailor  keeps  me  waiting  on  a  day 
when  I  am  particularly  engaged.  I  'm  furious. 
Plague  take  him !  May  a  quartan  ague  get  him ! 
Devil  of  a  tailor !  if  I  only  had  my  hands  on  him 
I  'd  choke  him !  Dog  of  a  tailor !  traitor  of  a 
tailor!   I'd  — 

♦ 

SCENE  EIGHTH 

Monsieur  Jourdain,  A  Master-tailor,  A  Jour- 
NETMAN  TAILOR,  carri/tng  Monsieur  Jourdain's  coat, 
Lacquey. 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 

Ah!  here  you  are.  I  was  just  going  to  get 
angry  with  you. 

Master-tailor. 

I  could  not  come  any  sooner.  I  have  had 
twenty  men  at  work  on  your  coat. 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 

You  sent  me  such  tight  silk  stockings  that 
I  had  the  greatest  piece  of  work  to  get  them 
on;  there  are  two  stitches  broken  now. 

Master-tailor. 
They  will  stretch  only  too  much. 


204  BOURGEOIS  GENTILHOMME      [Act  II 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 

Yes,  if  I  burst  all  the  stitches.  And  those 
shoes  you  had  made  for  me,  they  hurt  my  feet 
horribly. 

Masteb-tailob. 

Oh,  no,  they  don't,  monsieur. 

MONSIEUB   JOUBDAIN. 

What!  they  don't? 

Masteb-tailob. 
No,  no,  they  don't  hurt  you. 

MONSIEUB   JOUBDAIK. 

I  tell  you  they  do  hurt  me. 

Masteb-tailob. 
You  imagine  it. 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 

I  imagine  it  because  I  feel  it;  good  reason 

why. 

Masteb-tailob. 

See!  this  is  one  of  the  finest  of  court-suits; 

the  colors   are  well-assorted.     It  is  a  work  of 

art  to  invent  a  serious  coat  that  is  not  black. 

I'll  give  all  the  most   enlightened   tailors   six 

chances   to   do   the   same. 


schnbviii]  bourgeois  GENTILHOMME    205 

Monsieur  Joubdain. 
But  what 's  all  this  1  you  have  put  the  flowers 
at  the  bottom! 

Masteb-tailob. 

You  did  not  tell  me  you  wanted  them  at  the 

top. 

Monsieur  Joubdain. 

Was  it  necessary  to  tell  you  that  1 

Masteb-tailob. 
Of  course   it  was.     All  persons   of  quality 
wear  them  like  this. 

MoNsiEUB  Joubdain. 
Do  all  persons  of  quality  wear  flowers  at  the 

bottom? 

Masteb-tailob. 
Yes,  monsieur. 

Monsieub  Joubdain". 
Oh,  very  well  then. 

Masteb-tailob. 
If  you  like,  I  can  put  them  at  the  top. 

Monsieub  Joubdain. 
No,  no. 

Masteb-tailob. 
You  have  only  to  say  so. 


206  BOURGEOIS  GENTILHOMME      [Act  II 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 
No,    I   tell  you,  no;   you  have  done  right. 
Do  you  think  that  suit  will  be  becoming  to  me  1 

Master-tailor. 
What  a  question!  I  defy  a  painter  with  his 
brush  to  make  you  anything  more  perfect.  I 
have  a  journeyman  who  is  the  greatest  genius 
in  the  world  at  making  breeches;  and  another 
who  is  the  hero  of   our  times  at  a  doublet. 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 
Are  the  wig  and  the  plumes  quite  the  thing  ? 

Master-tailor. 
All  just  right. 

Monsieur  Jourdain,  noticing  the  master- 
tailor's  coat. 
Ah!  ah!  Mr.  Tailor;   that  is  the  same  stuff 
as  the  last  coat  you   made  me;  I  recognize  it 

perfectly. 

Master-tailob. 

I   thought  it   so  fine  I  wanted  a  coat  of  it 

myself. 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 

Yes,  but  you  had  no  business  to  have  one 
like  mine. 


Scene  IX]    BOURGEOIS  GEXTILHOMME       207 

Masteb-tailob. 
Will  you  please  to  put  on  your  suit  ? 

MONSIEUE   JOUBDAIN. 

Yes ;  give  it  to  me. 

Masteb-tailob. 

Wait,  wait.  We  don't  do  things  in  that  way. 
I  have  brought  men  to  dress  you.  Such  suits  as 
these  are  put  on  with  ceremony.  Hoik,  there ! 
Enter. 


SCENE  NINTH 

Monsieur  Jourdain,  Master-tailor,  Journeyman- 
tailor,  FOUR  other  journeymen-tailors,  Lacquey. 

Masteb-tailob,  to  his  journeymen. 
Put  on  monsieur's  court-suit  as  you  do  those 
of  persons  of  quality. 

The  four  jouimeymen-tailors,  bowing  and 
pirouetting,  approach  Monsieur  Jourdain. 
Two  take  off  his  red  velvet  breeches;  the 
others  remove  his  green  velvet  waistcoat; 
after  which,  still  pirouetting,  they  put  on 
his  new  suit.  Monsieur  Jourdain  then  walks 
about  among  them,  showing  himself  off,  to  see 
if  the  suit  fits  him. 


208  BOURGEOIS  GENTILHOMME     [Act  II 

JOUBNEYMAN-TAILOR. 

Noble  sir,  please  to  give  us  something  to  drink 
with. 

MONSIEUB   JOUBDAIN. 

What  did  you  call  me  ? 

JOUBNEYMAN-TAILOB. 

Noble  sir. 

MosrSIEUB   JOUBDAIN. 

"  Noble  sir !  "  Now,  that 's  what  it  is  to  be 
dressed  like  people  of  quality !  Wear  the  clothes 
of  a  bourgeois  and  nobody  will  call  you  "  Noble 
sir."  (Gives  money.')  Here,  take  that  from  your 
"Noble  sir." 

JOUBNEYMAN-TAILOB. 

My  lord,  we  are  very  much  obliged  to  you. 

MONSIEUB   JOUBDAIN. 

"  My  lord!"  oh!  oh!  "  My  lord!"  Wait  one 
moment,  friend.  "  My  lord "  deserves  some- 
thing; for  it  is  not  a  small  thing  to  be  called 
"My  lord."  Here,  this  is  what  "My  lord" 
gives  you. 

JOUENETMAN-TAILOB. 

My  lord,  we  shall  all  drink  your  Grace's 
health. 


Scene  IX]    BOURGEOIS  GENTILHOMME       209 

Monsieur  Joubdain. 
«  Your  Grace !  "  Oh !  oh !  oh !  Wait ;  don't  go 
away.  "Your Grace,"  tome!  (Aside)  Faith! 
if  he  goes  as  far  as  Highness  he  '11  get  all  there 
is  in  my  purse.  (Aloud)  There,  that 's  for  My 
Grace. 

JOUBNEYMAN-TAILOK. 

My  lord,  we  thank  you  very  humbly  for  your 
liberalities. 

MosrsiEUB  Joubdain,  aside. 
That 's  fortunate ;  I  was  going  to  give  him  all. 

BALLET. 
The  four  journeymen-tailors  rejoice,  in  danc- 
ing, at  Monsieur  Jourdain's  liberalities. 


END   OP  SECOND  ACT. 


14 


210  BOURGEOIS  GENTILHOMME     [Act  III 


art  STfjfrti 


SCENE  FIRST 
Monsieur  Joukdain,  two  lacquets 

Monsieur  Joubdain,  in  his  court  suit. 

POLLOW  me  while  I  walk  about  town  to 
show  my  suit;  and  be  particular,  both  of  you, 
to  walk  immediately  behind  me,  so  that  every- 
body may  see  that  you  belong  to  me. 

Lacqueys. 
Yes,  monsieur. 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 
Call  Nicole ;  I  want  to  give  her  some  orders. 
No,  don't  stir;  here  she  comes. 


SCENE   SECOND. 
Monsieur  Jourdain,  Nicole,  two  lacquets. 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 

Nicole ! 


ScknbU]    bourgeois  GENTILHOMME      211 

Nicole. 
What  is  it? 

Monsieur  Joubdain. 
Listen. 

Nicole,  laughing. 

He,  he,  he!  he,  he! 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 
What  are  you  laughing  at  1 

Nicole. 
He,  he,  he  !  he,  he,  he ! 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 
What  does  the  hussy  mean  1 

Nicole. 

He,  he,  he  !     How  you  are  rigged  up  1     He, 

he,  he! 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 

What 's  that  you  say  ? 

Nicole. 
Ho!  ho!  my  gracious!     He,  he,  he!  he,  he! 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 
You  are  laughing  at  me,  you  baggage  ! 

Nicole. 
No,  no,  monsieur ;  I  'd  be  very  sorry  —    He, 
he,  he !  he,  he ! 


212  BOURGEOIS  GENTILHOMME    [Act  HI 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 

I  '11  flick  you  on  the  nose,  if  you  laugh  any 

more. 

Nicole. 

Monsieur,  I  can't  help  it.      He,  he,  he !  he , 

he,  he ! 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 
Stop,  I  say. 

Nicole. 

Monsieur,  I  beg  your  pardon — but  you  are 

so  funny,  and  I  —  I  can't  help  laughing.     He, 

he,  he  ! 

Monsieur  Joubdain. 

What  insolence ! 

Nicole. 

You  are  so  mighty  droll  like  that.     He,  he  ! 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 
I'll  — 

Nicole. 

Oh,  please  forgive  —     He,  he !  he,  he  ! 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 
Look  here!    if  you  laugh  one  atom  more,  I 
swear  I  '11  box  your  ears  harder  than  you  ever 
had  them  boxed  in  your  life. 

Nicole. 
There,   monsieur,    I  've   done ;    it 's   over,   I 
sha'n't  laugh  any  more. 


Scene  II]    BOURGEOIS  GENTILHOMME        213 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 
Mind  you  do  not.    Now,  then,  I  want  you  to 
get  things  ready,  and  clean  — 

Nicole. 
He,  he! 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 

—  and  clean,  in  a  proper  manner  — 

Nicole. 
He,  he! 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 

I  say   clean   the   salon   in  a  proper  manner, 

and  — 

Nicole. 
He,  he,  he ! 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 
What !  again  ? 

Nicole,  tumbling  down  with  laughter. 
There,  monsieur,  beat  me!  beat  me!  but  let 
me  have  my  laugh  out;  that  will  do  me  most 
good.     He,  he,   he!  he,  he,  he! 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 

I  am  furious ! 

Nicole. 

Oh,    for  goodness'  sake,    monsieur !   let   me 

laugh.     He,  he,   he! 


214  BOURGEOIS  GENTILHOMME    [Act  UI 

Monsieur  Joubdain. 
If  I  catch  you  — 

Nicole. 
Ah,  mon-monsieur,   I   shall  bur-ur-urst  if  I 
don't  laugh.     He,  he,   he ! 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 
Was  there  ever  such  a  jade  1  —  to  laugh  inso- 
lently at  my  very  nose,    instead  of  taking  my 

orders. 

Nicole. 

What  is  it  you  want  me  to  do,  monsieur  ? 

Monsieur  Joubdain. 

I  order  you,  hussy,  to  prepare  my  house  for 

a  company  whom  I  have  invited  — 

Nicole,  picking  herself  up. 
Oh !  faith,  I  don't  want  to  laugh  now.     Your 
companies  make  such  a  mess  that  the  very  word 
is  enough  to  put  me  out  of  temper. 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 

Do  you  expect  me  to  shut  my  doors  to  society 

to  please  you? 

Nicole. 

You  ought  to  shut  them  to  some  people ;  I 

know  that. 


Scene  ni]    BOURGEOIS  GENTILHOMME       215 

SCENE   THIRD 

Madame  Jourdain,  Monsieur  Joubdain,  Nicole, 
two  lacqueys 

Madame  Jourdain. 
Ah !  ah !  here  are  some  new  goings-on ! 
What 's  all  this,  husband  ?  Goodness !  why 
are  you  rigged  out  in  that  style?  Who  ever 
saw  such  absurdity'  Do  you  want  to  be  a 
laughing-stock  wherever  you  go? 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 
None  but  fools  and  foolish  women,  wife,  will 
laugh  at  me. 

Madame  Jourdain. 
They  have  n't  waited  till  now,  that 's  true ; 
your  doings  have  made  everybody  laugh  for  a 
good  long  time. 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 

And   who   may   your   everybody  be,   if  you 

please  ? 

Madame  Jourdain. 

My   everybody   is   everybody    who   has  any 

sense,   and  is  n't  such  a  fool  as  you.     For  my 

part  I  am  scandalized  by  the  life  you  lead.    One 

would  think  it  was  high  carnival  every  day.     I 


216  BOUEGEOIS   GENTILHOMME     [Act  HI 

don't  know  my  own  house   any  longer.    It  is  no 

sooner  daylight  than  the  caterwauling  of  violins 

and  singers  begins,  till  the  whole  neighborhood 

is  roused  by  it. 

Nicole. 

Madame  is  right;  I  can't  keep  the  house 
clean  with  that  rabble  of  people  you  bring  into 
it.  They  've  got  feet  that  hunt  for  mud  all 
over  Paris  just  to  bring  it  in  here  !  Our  poor 
Fran^oise  is  worn-out  rubbing  the  floors  which 
your  shambling  company  scuffle  over  every  day. 

Monsieur  Joukdatn. 
Hey  day !  servant  Nicole ;  your  tongue  wags 
pretty  freely  for  a  peasant. 

Madame  Jourdain. 
Nicole  is   right.     Her   sense   is  better  than 
yours.     I  should  like  to  know  what  you  expect 
to  do  with  a  dancing-master  at  your  time  of  life. 

Nicole.  • 

And  that  big  fencing-man,  who  comes   here 

and  stamps  his  feet  and  shakes  the  house  till  he 

has   loosened   some   of  the  tiles  in   the   salon 

floor. 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 

Be  silent,  my  wife,  and  my  servant. 


ScEWE  III]    BOURGEOIS  GENTILHOMME      217 

Madame  Jourdain. 
Do  you  want  to  learn  dancing  against  the 
time  when  you  haven't  any  legs? 

Nicole. 
Are  you  wanting  to  kill  anybody  1 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 

Silence,   I   say!     You  are  ignorant   women, 

both  of  you;  you  don't  know  the  prerogatives 

of  all  that. 

Madame  Jourdain. 

You  had  better  be  thinking  of  marrying  your 

daughter,  who  is  now  of  an  age  to  be  provided 

for. 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 

I  shall  think  of  marrying  my  daughter  when 

a  proper  suitor   presents  himself;  meantime  I 

choose  to  learn  fine  things. 

Nicole. 
They  do  say,  madame,  that  by  way  of  sauce 
for  his  goose   he   has   had   a  professor  of  phi- 
losophy here  this  very  morning. 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 
Quite  true.     I  desire  to  possess  a  mind,  and 
to  know  how  to  reason  about  things  when  I  am 
in  company  with  intelligent  persons. 


218  BOUEGEOIS  GENTILHOMME     [Act  III 

Madame  Jourdain. 

Hadn't  you  better  go  to  school  and  be 
birched  t 

MONSIETTB    JOURDAIN. 

Why  not  1  Would  to  God  I  could  be  whipped 
in  presence  of  everybody,  if  that  would  teach 
me  what  is  learned  at  school. 

Nicole. 
Faith !  it  might  straighten  you  up  a  bit. 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 
No  doubt  it  would. 

Madame  Jourdain. 

And  it  is  so  very  useful  in  managing  your 
household ! 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 
Of  course  it  is.     You  jDoth  of  you  talk  like 
idiots,   and  I  'm   ashamed    of  your    ignorance. 
For  instance,    (to  Madame  Jourdain)  do  you 
know,  you,   what  you  are  saying  now? 

Madame  Jourdain. 
I  know  what  I  am  saying  is  well  said,  and 
you  ought  to  be  thinking  about  leading  another 
life. 


Scene  m]    BOURGEOIS  GENTILHOMME      219 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 
I  'm  not  talking  about  that.     I  ask  you  what 
are  the  words  you  are  saying  now  1 

Madame  Jourdain. 
Words  that  are  sensible,  which  your  conduct 
is  n't. 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 
I  'm  not  talking  about  that,    I  tell  you.     I 
ask  you :  what  I  am  saying  to  you  now,  —  what 

is  it? 

Madame  Jourdain. 

Stuff  and  nonsense. 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 
No,  no,  no!  that  isn't  what  I  mean.     What 
we  are  both  saying,  —  the  language  we  are  both 

using  — 

Madame  Jourdain. 
Well? 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 
Whatis  that  called? 

Madame  Jourdain. 
It  is  called  what  people  choose  to  call  it. 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 
It  is  prose,  ignoramus. 

Madame  Jourdain. 
Prose  ? 


220  BOURGEOIS  GENTILHOMME    [Act  lU 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 

Yes,   prose.      All  that  is  prose  is  not  verse 

and  all  that  is  not  verse  is  prose.     Hi !  that 's 

what  it  is  to  study.     {To  Nicole)  And  you, 

do  you  know  what  you  must  do  in  order  to 

say  U? 

Nicole. 

What? 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 
What  do  you  do  when  you  say  U  ? 

Nicole. 
What  do  I  do? 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 
Say  U,  —  and  then  you  '11  see. 

Nicole. 
Well,  there  then,  —  U. 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 
What  did  you  do  ? 

Nicole, 
I  said  U. 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 
Yes ;  but  when  you  said  TJ  what  did  you  do  ? 

Nicole. 
I  did  what  you  told  me  to  do. 


Scene  III]    BOURGEOIS  GENTILIIOMME       221 

Monsieur  Joubdaik. 

Oh!  what  a  singular  thing  it  is  to  have  to  do 
with  fools!  You  stretch  your  lips  out,  and 
bring  the  upper  jaw  down  to  the  lower  jaw, 
—  U,  don't  you  see  1     I  make  a  face,  —  U. 

Nicole. 
Yes,  that's  fine. 

Madame  Jourdain. 
It 's  admirable ! 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 

That's  only  part  of  it;  you  should  see  0; 
and  D,  DA;  and  F,  FA. 

Madame  Jourdain. 
Goodness!  what  rubbish! 

Nicole. 
What 's  the  good  of  it  all  ? 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 
I  am  furious  when  I  see  such  ignorant  women. 

Madame  Jourdain. 

Come,  come,  you  ought  to  get  rid  of  all  those 
fellows,  with  their  ridiculous  nonsense. 


222         BOURGEOIS   GENTILHOMME     [Act  III 

Nicole. 
Specially  that  big  brute  of  a  fencing-master 
who  stamps  all  my  places  full  of  dust. 

Monsieur  Joukdain. 

Ho  !   ho !    that  fencing-master  sticks  in  your 

throat,  does  he  ?     I  '11  show  your  impertinence 

what  he  teaches  me.     {Takes  up  the  foils  and 

gives   one   to    Nicole.)      Here !    demonstrative 

reason.     Attention  !  body  in  line.     When  you 

thrust  in  quarte,  this  is  what  you've  got  to  do; 

and   when   you   thrust  in   tierce,    you   do    so. 

In  that  way  you  can't  be  killed.     It  is  a  fine 

thing  to  be  sure  of  what  we  are  about  when  we 

fight  a  man.     Now  begin;  thrust  me  a  little, 

just  to  see. 

Nicole. 

Well,    there !    there !  (Nicole  gives   several 
thrusts  at  Monsieur  Jourdain.) 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 

Hola !   stop,   stop  !  ho !   gently.     Devil  take 

the  woman ! 

Nicole. 

You  told  me  to  thrust. 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 
Yes,  but  you  thrust  in  tierce  before  you  thnist 
in  quarte,  and  you  had  n't  the  patience  to  let  me 
parry. 


ScKNBin]    BOURGEOIS  GENTILHOMME      223 

Madame  Jourdain. 
You  are  crazy,  husband,  with  all  your  wliim- 
seys;  and  it  has  come  upon  you  ever  since  you 
took  to  haunting  the  nobility. 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 
When   I   frequent   the  nobility  I  show   ray 
judgment.     It  is  a  much  finer  thing  than  fre- 
quenting your  bourgeoisie. 

Madame  Jourdain. 
It  is  indeed !  and  there  's  a  deal  to  gain  in 
consorting   with   your   nobles !  you  've   done   a 
fine    business    with    that    count    you    are    so 
bewitched  with. 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 
Peace!  reflect  on  what  you  say.  Do  you 
know,  wife,  you  don't  know  whom  you  are 
talking  about  when  you  speak  of  that  gentle- 
man. He  is  a  person  of  much  more  importance 
than  you  think  for,  —  a  great  lord  much  thought 
of  at  court,  who  talks  to  the  king  just  as  I 
talk  to  you.  Is  n't  it  a  most  honorable  thing 
to  me  that  a  person  of  such  quality  should  be 
seen  to  come  here  and  visit  me,  and  call  me 
his  dear  friend,  and  treat  me  as  if  I  were 
his  equal?     He  has   done   me  kindnesses  that 


224  BOURGEOIS  GENTILHOMME     [Act  III 

no  one  has  any  idea  of,  and  in  presence  of 
company  he  pays  me  such  compliments  that 
I  am  quite  confused. 

Madame  Jourdain. 
Yes;  he  is   mighty  kind,  and  he   pays  you 
compliments,  but  he  borrows  your  money  too. 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 
Well,  and  isn't  it  a  great  honor  for  me  to 
lend   money  to  a  man  of  his  station?   could  I 
do   less    for  a    great    lord  who   calls  me   his 
friend  ? 

Madame  Jourdain. 
And  this  great  lord,  what  does  he  do  for  you  1 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 
Things  that  would  amaze  every  one  if  they 
knew  them. 

Madame  Jourdain. 
But  what? 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 
Enough!  I  cannot  explain  myself;  suffice  it 
to  say  that  if  I  have  lent  him  money  he  will 
return  it  handsomely,  and  before  long. 

Madame  Jourdain. 
Jndeed !  do  you  really  expect  that  ? 


Scene  ni]    BOURGEOIS  GENTILHOMME      225 

Monsieur  Joubdain. 
Assuredly  I  do.     He  told  me  so. 

Madame  Joubdain. 

Oh,  yes  I  and  he  won't  fail  to  do  otherwise. 

MoNSiEUB  Joubdain. 
I  have  his  word  as  a  nobleman. 

Madame  Joubdain. 

Stuff  and  nonsense ! 

MoNsiEUB  Joubdain. 
Heyday !  you  are  mighty  obstinate,  wife.     I 
tell  you  he  will  keep  his  word,  I  am  sure  of  it. 

Madame  Joubdain. 
And  I  am  sure  he  won't.     All  those  compli- 
ments are  only  paid  to  wheedle  you. 

Monsieub  Joubdain. 
Hold  your  tongue ;  here  he  comes ! 

Madame  Joubdain. 

I  dare  say  he  has  only  come  to  borrow  more 

money.     The  mere  look  of  lum  is  enough  for 

me. 

Monsieub  Joubdain. 

Hold  your  tongue,  I  say. 

15 


226  BOURGEOIS  GENTILHOMME    [Act  UI 

SCENE  FOURTH 

DOBANTE,   MONSIEDB  JOURDAIN,   MaDAME    JoCRDAIN, 

Nicole 
DOBANTE. 

My  dear  friend,  Monsieur  Jourdain,  how  are 

you? 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 

Very  well  indeed,  monsieur,  and  all  ready  to 
offer  you  my  little  services. 

DORANTE. 

And  Madame   Jourdain,  whom  I  find  here, 
how  is  she? 

Madame  Jourdain. 

Madame  Jourdain  is  as  she  can  be. 

Dorante. 
Dear  me !  Monsieur  Jourdain,  how  well  you 
are  dressed. 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 
You  think  so  ? 

Dorante. 
You  have  altogether  an  air  of  fashion  in  that 
suit;  we  have  no  young  men  at  court  who  are 
more  stylish  than  you  are  now. 


Sckneiv]    bourgeois  GENTILHOMME     227 

Monsieur  Joubdain. 
Hi!  hi! 

Madame  Jourdain,  aside. 
He  scratches  him  where  he  itches. 

DOBANTE. 

Turn  round.     Why,  you  are  elegant ! 

Madame  Jourdain,  aside. 
Yes,  as  silly  behind  as  before. 

DORANTE. 

On  my  word,  Monsieur  Jourdain,  I  have  felt 
strangely  impatient  to  see  you  again.  You  are 
the  man  I  value  most  in  society.  I  was  speak- 
ing of  you  only  this  morning  in  the  king's 
chamber. 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 

You  do  me  too  much  honor,  monsieur. 
(Aside  to  Madame  Jourdain)  In  the  king's 
chamber ! 

DoRANTE. 

Come,  put  on  your  hat. 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 
Monsieur,  I  know  the  respect  I  owe  you. 


228         BOURGEOIS  GENTILHOMME      [Act  III 
DOKANTE. 

Never  mind  that,  cover  yourself;  no  cere- 
mony between  us,  I  beg. 

Monsieur  Jourdaik. 
Monsieur — 

DORANTE, 

Put  on  your  hat,  I  insist  Monsieur  Jourdain ; 
you  are  my  friend. 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 
Monsieur,  I  am  your  humble  servant. 

DORANTE. 

I  shall  not  put  on  my  hat  till  you  put  on 
yours. 

Monsieur  Jourdain,  putting  on  his  hat. 
I  would  rather  be  uncivil  than  annoying. 

DORANTE. 

I  am  your  debtor,  as  you  know. 

Madame  Jourdain,  aside. 
Yes,  we  know  it  only  too  well. 

Dorante. 

You  have  generously  lent  me  money  on 
several  occasions;  and  yoii  have  done  me  that 
service  with  the  finest  grace  in  the  world. 


ScENB  IV]    BOURGEOIS  GENTILHOMME       229 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 
Monsieur,  you  are  jesting. 

DORANTE. 

But  I  know  how  to  pay  what  I  borrow,  and 
to  recognize  the  services  that  are  done  to  me. 

MoxsiEUR  Jourdain. 
I  do  not  doubt  it,  monsieur. 

DORANTE. 

I  wish  to  close  up  this  affair  with  you,  and 
I  have  come  now  to  settle  our  accounts. 

Monsieur  Jourdain,  aside  to  Madame 

Jourdain. 
There !  now  you  see  your  impertinence,  wife. 

DORANTE. 

I  am  a  man  who  likes  to  settle  such  affairs 
as  soon  as  possible. 

Monsieur  Jourdain,  aside  to  Madame 

Jourdain. 
I  told  you  so. 

DORANTE. 

Let  me  see  how  much  I  owe  you. 

Monsieur  Jourdain,  aside  to  Madame 

Jourdain. 
Are   not  you    ashamed    of   your    ridiculous 
suspicions  ? 


230  BOURGEOIS  GENTILHOMME    [Acini 

DOBANTE. 

Do  you  remember  the  exact  sums  you  have 
lent  me? 

Monsieur  Joubdain. 

I  think  so.  I  made  a  little  note  of  them. 
Here  it  is  (takes  out  a  memorandum).  Given 
to  you,  first,  two  hundred  louis. 

DOBANTE. 

That  is  so. 

MoNsiEUB  Joubdain. 
Another  time,  six  twenties. 

DoBANTE. 

Yes. 

MoNsiEUB  Joubdain. 
And  another  time,  one  hundred  and  forty. 

DoBANTE. 

You  are  quite  right. 

MoNsiEUB  Joubdain. 
Those  three  items  make   four   hundred  and 
sixty    louis;    value    five    thousand    and    sixty 
francs. 

DOBANTE. 

Your  account  is  exact;  five  thousand  and 
sixty  francs. 


Scene  IV]    BOURGEOIS  GENTILHOMME      231 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 
Eighteen  hundred   and   thirty-two  francs  to 
your  feather-merchant. 

DORANTE. 

Precisely. 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 
Two   thousand    seven    hundred    and    eighty 
francs  to  your  tailor. 

DoRANTE. 

True. 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 

Four  thousand  three  hundred  and  seventy- 
nine  francs,  twelve  sous,  eight  farthings,  to 
your  mercer. 

Dorante. 

Exactly, —  twelve  sous,  eight  farthings ;  quite 
right. 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 

And  one  thousand  seven  hundred  and  forty- 

eiglit  francs,  seven  sous,  four  farthings  to  your 

saddler. 

Dorante. 

All  that  is  perfectly  correct.  How  much 
does  that  make? 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 
Sum  total,    fifteen   thousand   eight   hundred 
francs. 


232         BOUKGEOIS  GENTILHOMME    [Act  UI 

DOEANTE. 

Your  sum  total  is  right,  —  fifteen  thousand 
eight  hundred  francs.  Add  to  that  two  hundred 
pistoles,  which  you  will  now  give  me,  and  that 
will  make  exactly  eighteen  thousand  francs 
which  I  will  pay  you  at  the  first  opportunity. 

Madame  Jourdain,  aside  to  Monsieur 

Jourdain. 
Now  !  didn't  I  judge  him  rightly  ? 

MoNSiEUB  Jourdain,  aside  to  Madame 

Jourdain. 
Peace  ! 

DOBANTE. 

Will  it  inconvenience  you  to  give  me  the  sum 
I  want? 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 
Oh,  no. 

Madame  Jourdain,  aside  to  Monsieur 

Jourdain. 
The  man  is  making  a  milch  cow  of  you. 

Monsieur  Jourdain,  aside  to  Madame 

Jourdain. 
Hold  your  tongue. 

DoBANTE. 

If  it  is  inconvenient  I  can  get  what  I  want 
elsewhere. 


Scene  IV]    BOURGEOIS  GENTILHOMME       233 

Monsieur  Jodedain. 

No,  monsieur,  it  is  not. 

Madame  Joubdain,  aside  to  Monsieur 
Jourdain. 

He  won't  be  satisfied  till  he  has  ruined  you. 

Monsieur  Jourdain,  aalde  to  Madame 

Jourdain. 
Hold  your  tongue,  I  say. 

DORANTE. 

You  have  only  to  tell  me  it  embarrasses  you. 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 
Not  in  the  least,  monsieur. 

Madame  Jourdain,  aside  to  Monsieur 

Jourdain. 
He  is  a  regular  swindler. 

Monsieur  Jourdain,  aside  to  Madame 

Jourdain. 
Hold  your  tongue. 

Madame  Jourdain,  aside  toMonsieur 
Jourdain. 

He  will  suck  you  to  the  last  penny. 


234  BOURGEOIS  GENTILHOMME     [Act  III 

Monsieur  Jourdain,  aside  to  Madame 
Jourdain. 

Will  you  be  silent  ? 

DORANTE. 

I  hate  many  acquaintances  who  will  gladly 
lend  me  the  money ;  but  as  you  are  my  best 
friend  I  thought  I  should  do  wrong  to  you  if  I 
asked  it  of  others. 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 
You  do  me   too  much  honor,  monsieur.     I 
will  fetch  the  money. 

Madame  Jourdain,  aside  to  Monsieur 

Jourdain. 
What !  you  really  mean  to  let  him  have  it  1 

Monsieur  Jourdain,  a^ide  to  Madame 
Jourdain. 

How  can  I  help  it?  Would  you  have  me 
refuse  a  man  of  his  station,  —  a  man  who  spoke 
of  me  this  very  morning  in  the  chamber  of  the 
king? 

Madame  Jourdain,    aside  to  Monsieur 

Jourdain. 
You  are  a  perfect  dupe. 


Scene  V]       BOURGEOIS  GENTILHOMME     236 

SCENE  FIFTH 
DoRANTE,  Madame  Jourdain,  Nicole 

DORANTE. 

You  seem  quite  melancholy.  What  is  the 
matter,   Madame  Jourdain? 

Madame  Joubdain. 
I've  a  head  that  is  bigger  than  a  fist, — and 
it  is  not  swollen  either. 

DORANTE. 

And  mademoiselle,  your  daughter,  where  is 
she  that  I  do  not  see  her  here? 

Madame  Jourdain. 
Mademoiselle,  my  daughter,  is  where  she  is. 

DORANTB. 

How  is  she  1 

Madame  Jourdain. 
As  she  ought  to  be. 

DORANTB. 

Should  you  like,  some  day,  to  take  her  to  see 
one  of  those  comedy-ballets  they  play  before 
the  king? 

Madame  Jourdain. 

Ho !  indeed ;  much  we  want  to  laugh,  and  to 
laugh  in  that  style. 


236  BOURGEOIS   GENTILHOMME    [Act  III 

DORANTE. 

I  think,  Madame  Jourdain,  you  probably 
bad  many  lovers  in  your  young  days ;  so  hand- 
some and  agreeable  as  you  must  have  been 
then. 

Madame  Joubdain. 

Tredame !  monsieur ;  is  Madame  Jourdain 
decrepit?  does  her  head  shake? 

DOBANTE. 

Ah,  faith!  Madame  Jourdain,  I  beg  your 
pardon ;  I  was  forgetting  you  are  young.  I  am 
often  dreaming.  I  beg  you  to  excuse  my 
impertinence. 


SCENE  SIXTH 

MoNSiEtTR  Jourdain,  Madame  Jourdain,  Doeantb, 

Nicole 

MoNSiEUB  JouBDAiBT,  to  Dovante. 
Here  are  two  hundred  louis,  carefully  counted. 

DOEANTE. 

I  assure  you,  Monsieur  Jourdain,  I  am  wholly 
yours,  and  I  ardently  desire  to  do  you  some 
service  at  court. 


Scbhbvi]    bourgeois  GEXTILHOMME      237 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 
I  am  only  too  much  obliged  to  you. 

DORANTE. 

If  Madame  Jourdain  would  like  to  see  a 
royal  entertainment,  I  will  give  her  one  of  the 
best  seats  in  the  room. 

Madame  Jourdain. 
Madame  Jourdain  takes  leave  to  scorn  ii. 

DoRANTE,  aside  to  Monsieur  Jourdain. 
Our  beautiful  marchioness,  as  I  wrote  you  in 
my  note,   will  come  here  to  dinner  and  to  see 
your  ballet.     I   have   at   last   induced   her   to 
accept  the  present  you  wished  to  make  her. 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 
Come  farther  away,  because  — 

DORANTE. 

I  have  not  seen  you  for  eight  days,  and  there- 
fore I  could  not  tell  you  sooner  about  the  diamond 
which  you  placed  in  my  hands  to  give  to  her 
from  you.  I  have  had  the  greatest  difl&culty  in 
overcoming  her  scruples,  and  it  was  not  until 
to-day  that  she  consented  to  accept  it. 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 
What  does  she  think  of  it  1 


238         BOURGEOIS  GENTILHOMME    [Act  III 

DOBANTE. 
She  thinks  it  perfect;  and  I  am  much  mis- 
taken if  that  diamond  does  not  aflfect  her  mind 
most  favorably  toward  you. 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 
Heaven  grant  it  may  ! 

Madame  Jourdain,  to  Nicole. 
When  he  once  gets  with  that  man  he  can't 
leave  him. 

DORANTE. 

I  gave  her  to  understand  the  value  of  the 
present,  and  the  greatness  of  your  love. 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 
Those  are  kindnesses,  monsieur,  which  over- 
whelm me.     I  am  put  to  tlie  greatest  confusion 
in   the   world   when   I   see   a   person   of  your 
quality  condescend  to  me  as  you  do. 

DORANTE. 

You  are  jesting.  Between  friends  how  can 
there  be  scruples  ?  Would  you  not  do  the  same 
thing  for  me  if  occasion  offered  ? 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 
Oh,  assuredly ;  and  with  all  my  heart. 


ScenbVI]    bourgeois  GENTILHOMME       239 

Madame  Jourdain,    to  Nicole. 
His  very  presence  is  a  weight  on  my  mind. 

DORANTE. 

As  for  me,  I  consider  nothing  when  T  wish 
to  serve  a  friend ;  and  when  you  confided  to  me 
your  passion  for  that  agreeable  marchioness, 
with  whom  I  was  already  acquainted,  you  saw 
that  I  at  once  offered  to  assist  your  love. 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 
True;    and   those   are   the    kindnesses    that 
confound  me. 

Madame  Jourdain,  to  Nicole. 
Will  he  never  go  ? 

Nicole, 
They  seem  to  like  being  together. 

DORANTE. 

You  have  taken  the  right  way  to  reach  her 
heart.  Women  are  particularly  pleased  with 
costly  attentions ;  your  frequent  serenades,  your 
incessant  bouquets,  those  superb  fireworks  on 
the  water,  the  diamond  she  has  accepted,  the 
entertainment  you  are  preparing  for  her,  will  do 
more  to  win  her  love  than  all  the  speeches  you 
could  say  to  her  yourself. 


240         BOURGEOIS  GENTILHOMME    [Act  IH 

Monsieur  Jourdaikt. 
There  are  no  expenses  I  would  not  pay  if  by 
that  means  I  could  reach  her  heart.  A  woman 
of  rank  has  a  ravishing  charm  for  me ;  to  receive 
her  in  my  house  is  an  honor  I  would  buy  at 
any  cost, 

Madame  Jourdain,    to  Nicole. 

What   can   they   be   saying   to   each   other? 

Get  a  little  nearer  to   them,    softly,    and   try 

to  listen. 

Dorante. 

You   shall  presently  enjoy   the   pleasure   of 

seeing  her  at  your  ease.     Your  eyes  will  have 

all  the  time  they  want  to  satisfy  themselves. 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 
In  order  to  be  completely  at  liberty,  I  have 
arranged  that  my  wife  shall  dine  at  my  sister's, 
where  she  will  spend  the  rest  of  the  day. 

Dorante. 
You  have  acted  prudently,  for  your  wife 
might  have  embarrassed  us.  I  have  ordered 
for  you  all  the  cook  will  need,  and  also  the 
things  required  for  the  ballet.  The  ballet  is 
of  my  invention,  and  provided  the  execution 
carries  out  the  idea,  I  am  sure  it  will  be 
found  — 


Scene  Vn]    BOURGEOIS  GENTILHOMME     241 

Monsieur  Jourdain,  perceives  that  Nicole 
is  listening,  and  boxes  her  ears. 
The  devil !  you  are   an  impertinent   hussy. 
(To  Dor  ante)   Let  us  go  out,  if  you  please, 
monsieur. 


SCENE  SEVENTH 
Madaub  Jourdain,  Nicolb 

Nicole,  rvhhing  her  cheek. 
Hey !    madame,    curiosity    costs    something. 
But    I    think   there 's    a   snake   in   the  grass ; 
they  were  talking  of  some  entertainment  they 
don't  want  you  to   see. 

Madame  Jourdain. 

To-day  is  not  the  first  time,  Nicole,   that  I 

have  had   suspicions   of  my  husband.     Either 

I  am  most  utterly  mistaken ,  or   there  's   some 

love-affair    going   on.      I   am    trying    hard    to 

find  out  what   it  is.     But  let  us  think  of  my 

daughter  now.    You  know  the  love  that  Cldonte 

feels  for  her.     He  is  a  man  who  pleases  me ;   I 

wish  to  help  his  suit,  and  give  him  Lucile,  if  I 

can. 

Nicole. 

Indeed,  madame,   I  'm  delighted  to  find  you 

feel   that  way;  for  if  the  master  pleases  you, 

16 


242  BOURGEOIS  GENTILHOMME     [Act  III 

the  valet  pleases  me  no  less ;  and  I  should 
like  to  have  our  marriage  performed  under  the 
shadow  of  theirs. 

Madame  Jourdain, 
Go  and  find  Cleonte ;  and  tell  him  from  me 
that  I  wish  him  to  come  and  see  me  at  once, 
that  we  may,  together,  request  my  husband  to 
give  him  my  daughter. 

Nicole. 
I'll   go  with  joy,    madame;  I   couldn't   be 
sent  on   a   more  agreeable   errand.     (Alone)  I 
shall   give  happiness  to  more   than   one,    I'm 
thinking. 


SCENE  EIGHTH 
Cleonte,  Covielle,  Nicole 

Nicole,  to  Cleonte. 

Ah!  you  have  come  just  in  time.     I  am  an 
ambassadress  of  joy;  I  am  sent  to  tell  you  — 

Cleonte. 
Out  of  my  sight,  deceitful  woman  !     I  do  not 
choose  to  be  fooled  again  by  your  treacherous 
tongue. 


Scene  Vni]    BOURGEOIS  GENTILHOMME     243 

Nicole. 
Is  that  how  you  receive  — 

Cl^onte. 

Gro  away,  I  tell  you ;  go  and  tell  your  unfaith- 
ful mistress  that  never  again,  as  long  as  she  lives, 
can  she  impose  on  this  too  credulous  Cleonte, 

Nicole. 

What  craziness  is  this?  My  poor  Covielle, 
tell  me  what  it  means? 

Covielle. 

Your  poor  Covielle  indeed,  you  little  wretch  ! 
Quick,  out  of  my  sight!  and  let  me  alone. 

Nicole. 

What!  you,  too? 

Covielle. 

Out  of  my  sight,  I  say;  and  don't  speak  to 
me  again  as  long  as  you  live. 

Nicole,  aside. 

Heyday!  what  the  mischief  has  stung  them 
now  ?  I  '11  go  and  tell  my  young  mistress  this 
fine  tale. 


244  BOURGEOIS   GENTILHOMME    [Act  HI 

SCENE  NINTH 

CLtONTE,    COVIELLB 

Cl^onte. 
Thus  to  treat  a  lover !  and  the  most  faithful, 
the  most  passionate  of  lovers ! 

COVIELLE. 

It  is  a  shameful  thing  that  has  been  done  to 

both  of  us. 

Cl]6onte. 

I  show  to  a  woman  all  the  ardor,  all  the 
tenderness  imaginable;  I  love  nothing  so  well 
in  all  the  world ;  I  have  nought  but  her  within 
my  soul;  she  is  all  my  care,  all  my  desire, 
all  my  joy ;  I  dream  of  her,  I  breathe  through 
her,  my  heart  exists  in  her  alone ;  and  behold 
the  reward  of  so  much  love !  I  was  two  days 
without  seeing  her  —  to  me  two  dreadful  cen- 
turies; and  when  I  met  her,  just  now  by 
chance,  my  heart  at  the  sight  was  all  trans- 
ported; joy  shone  on  my  face;  I  flew  to  her 
with  delight,  and  the  faithless  creature  turned 
away  her  eyes  and  passed  on  hastily,  as  though 
she  had  never  seen  me  in  her  life. 

Covielle. 
I  say  the  same  as  you. 


Scbhbix]    bourgeois  GENTILHOMME     245 

Cl^onte. 
Covielle,  could  anything  be  found  to  equal 
the  perfidy  of  that  ungrateful  Lucile? 

Covielle. 
Or  the  treachery  of  that  hussy  Nicole  1 

Cl^onte. 
After  the  passionate  sacrifices  and  sighs  and 
vows  I  have  made  to  her  charms! 

Covielle. 
After  my  assiduous  attentions  and  the  services 
I  have  done  for  her  in  her  kitchen  ! 

<,5i^  Cl^onte. 

So  many  tears  shed  at  her  feet ! 

Covielle. 
So  many  pails  of  water  drawn  from  the  well ! 

Cl^onte. 
Such  ardor,  shown  in  cherishing  her  far  more 
than  my  own  self ! 

Covielle. 
Such  heat  endured  in  turning  the  spit  for  her ! 

Cl^onte. 
She  avoids  me  with  contempt. 


246  BOURGEOIS  GENTILHOMME     [Act  HI 

COVIELLE. 

She  turns  her  back  upon  me  shamelessly. 

Cl^onte. 
*Tis   a  perfidy  which  deserves  the  heaviest 
pvmishment. 

COVIELLE. 

'Tis   a   treachery   that  should  get  a   hearty 

cufl&ng. 

Cl^onte. 

Never,  I  beg  of  you,  never  speak  to  me  in 

her  favor. 

COVIELLE. 

I !  monsieur  1  God  forbid. 

Cl^onte. 
Never   come   to   me   with   excuses    for   that 
faithless  creature. 

Coviellb. 
You  need  not  fear  it. 

CL:fiONTE. 

No;   for  I  tell  you  that  any  words  in  her 
defence  will  serve  no  end. 

COVIELLE. 

I  should  n't  dream  of  it. 

Cl:6onte. 
I  wish  to  keep  my  resentment,  and  break  all 
ties  between  us. 


Scene  rX]    BOUKGEOIS  GENTILHOMME      247 
COVIELLE. 

I  consent. 

Cl^onte. 

Perhaps  this  count  who  is  often  at  the  house 
has  struck  her  eye.  Her  fancy  —  I  see  it  plainly 
—  is  being  dazzled  by  the  quality.  But,  for  my 
honor's  sake,  I  must  forestall  the  public  show  of 
her  inconstancy.  I  wish  to  make  as  many  steps 
as  she  toward  the  change  to  which  she  hastens ; 
I  will  not  leave  to  her  the  pride  of  quitting  me. 

COVIELLE. 

That  is  well  said ;  I  enter,  on  my  own  account, 
into  your  feelings. 

Cl^onte. 
Help  on  my  anger  and  sustain  my  resolution 
against  the  lingering  love  that  still  may  speak 
for  her.  TeU  me,  I  implore  you,  all  the  harm 
you  can.  Paint  me  a  portrait  of  her  person 
that  shall  make  me  scorn  it;  and  show  me 
plainly,  in  order  to  disgust  me,  all  the  defects 
that  you  discover  in  her. 

COVIELLE. 

In  her,  monsieur?  Ho!  an  affected  minx, 
a  squeamish  beauty  to  win  such  love  as  yours! 
I  see  nothing  in  her  but  what  is  commonplace; 


248  BOURGEOIS  GENTILHOMME    [Act  III 

you  could  find  a  hundred  other  women  more 
worthy  of  you.  In  the  first  place,  her  eyes 
are  small  — 

CLiONTE. 

'T  is  true  her  eyes  are  small,  but  they  are  full 
of  fire,  —  the  most  brilliant,  the  most  penetrat- 
ing, the  tenderest  eyes  that  were  ever  seen. 

COVIELLE. 

Her  mouth  is  too  large  — 

Cleonte. 

Yes;  but  it  has  a  grace  not  seen  in  other 

mouths ;  her  lips  inspire  desire ;   't  is  the  most 

winning,    the   most   loving   mouth    in  all    the 

world. 

Covielle. 

As  for  her  figure,  it  has  no  height  — 

Cl^onte. 
No ;  but  't  is  easy,  and  well-shaped. 

Covielle. 

She  affects  a  nonchalance  in  her  speech  and 

actions  — 

Cl^onte. 

True,    true;  but  what  a  grace   in  that!  and 

her    manners,   how    engaging !     They    have   a 

charm,    I  know  not  what,    that  wins   its  way 

to  every  heart. 


Scene  IX]    BOURGEOIS  GENTILHOMME      249 

COVIELLE. 

As  for  mind  — 

Cl]6onte. 
Ah !  she  has  that,  Covielle ;  the  subtlest,  the 

most  delicate  — 

Covielle. 

Her  conversation  — 

CLiONTE. 

Her  conversation  is  full  of  charm. 

Covielle. 
She  is  so  serious. 

Cleonte. 
Who  wants  a  full-blown  wit,  joys  ever  beam- 
ing?     What  is   there   more   annoying    than   a 
woman  who  laughs  at  every  word? 

Covielle. 
But,  at  least,  she  is  the  most  capricious  crea- 
ture in  the  world. 

Cleonte. 
Yes ;  she  's  capricious ;  I  agree  to  that ;  but, 
't  is  becoming  to  a  pretty  woman,  —  we  can  bear 
much  for  beauty's  sake. 

Covielle. 
Well,  since  it  comes  to  this,  I  see  you  want 
to  love  her  still. 


250  BOUEGEOIS  GENTILHOMME    [Act  m 

Cli^onte. 
I?     I  would  rather  die;   I  shall  henceforth 
hate  her  as  much  as  I  have  loved  her, 

COVIELLE. 

How  is  that  possible,  if  you  persist  in  think- 
ing her  so  perfect  1 

Cleonte. 
'T  is  there  my  vengeance  will  be  signal ;  my 
heart  can  best  proclaim  its  hatred  by  quitting 
her,   all  beautiful,  all  winning,   all  lovable   as 
*she  is.     But  here  she  comes. 


SCENE  TENTH 
LuciLB,  Cleonte,  Covielle,  Nicolb 

Nicole,  to  Lucile. 
As  for  me,  I  am  scandalized  — 

Lucile,  to  Nicole. 
It  cannot  be,   Nicole,  that  what  you  say  is 
true.     But  here  he  is. 

Cli^onte,  to  Covielle. 
I  will  not  even  speak  to  her. 

Covielle,  to  Cleonte. 
I  '11  imitate  you. 


SobnbX]    BOUKGEOIS  GENTILHOMME        251 
LUCILE. 

What  is  it,  Cl^onte  1     What  troubles  you  t 

Nicole. 
Wliat  's  the  matter,  Covielle? 

LUCILE. 

Has  any  grief  befallen  you  ? 

Nicole. 
Has  any  tantrum  seized  you  1 

LuciLE. 
Why  are  you  silent,  Cl^onte  1 

Nicole. 
Have  you  lost  your  tongue,  Covielle  1 

Cl^onte,  to  Covielle. 
But  this  is  shameful ! 

Covielle,  to  Cleonte. 
Another  Judas! 

LuciLE. 
I  see  that  our  late  meeting  troubles  you. 

Cleonte,  to  Covielle, 
Ah,  ha  I  she  sees  what  she  has  done  ! 


262  BOUKGEOIS  GENTILHOMME    [Act  III 

Nicole. 
Our  greeting  tMs  morning  has  put  you  in  a 
huff. 

CoviELLE,  to  CUorvte. 
They  've  hit  the  nail. 

LUCILE. 

Am  I  not  right,  Cleonte  ?  That  is  the  cause  of 
your  vexation,  I  am  sure. 

Cleonte. 
Yes,  treacherous  woman,  it  is  —  since  I  must 
speak.  I  tell  you  now  you  shall  not  triumph, 
as  you  think,  in  your  unfaithfulness.  I  choose 
to  be  the  first  to  break  with  you ;  you  shall  not 
have  the  pride  of  leaving  me.  Doubtless  I  shall 
find  it  hard  to  overcome  the  love  I  had  for  you ; 
it  may  cause  me  pain ;  I  may  suffer  for  a  while ; 
but  I  shall  conquer;  and  I  would  rather  put  a 
dagger  in  my  heart  than  have  the  weakness 
to  return  to  you. 

CoviELLE,  to  Nicole. 
And  I  say  ditto. 

LUCILE. 

But  what  a  trouble  about  nothing !  I  wish  to 
tell  you,  Cleonte,  the  reason  why  I  avoided  you 
this  morning. 


ScenbX]    bourgeois  GENTILHOMME       253 

CLioNTE,  attempting  to  go  out,  and  evading 

Lucile. 
No,  I  will  not  listen  to  you. 

Nicole,  to  Covielle. 
I  '11  tell  you  why  we  passed  so  quick. 

Covielle,  attempting  to  go  out,  and  evading 
Nicole. 
But  I  don't  wish  to  hear  it. 

Lucile,  folloiving  Cleonte. 
You  must  know  that  this  morning  — 

Cleonte,  still  going  out,  and  not  looking  at 

Liccile. 
No,  I  tell  you. 

Nicole,  folloiving  Covielle. 
Listen  to  this  — 

Covielle,  still  going,  and  not  looking  at 

Nicole. 
No,  traitress! 

Lucile. 
Hear  me! 

Cleonte. 
Not  a  word. 

Nicole,  to  Covielle. 
Let  me  tell  you  — 


264  BOURGEOIS   GENTILHOMME    [Act  UI 

COVIELLE. 


I  'm  deaf. 
Cl^onte! 
No! 

Covielle ! 
Silence  I 
Stop! 

Deceiver ! 
Hear  me ! 
Kubbish ! 
One  moment. 
^Not  one. 
Have  patience. 
Ta-ra-ra ! 
Only  a  word. 


LUCILE. 

Cl^onte. 

Nicole. 
Covielle. 

Lucile. 
Cl^onte. 
•Nicole. 
Covielle. 

Lucile. 
Cl]konte. 

Nicole. 
Covielle. 

Lucile. 


ScknkX]    bourgeois  GENTILHOMME       255 

CLiONTE. 

No,  I  say,  't  is  over. 

Nicole. 
Two  words. 

COVIELLE. 

Not  one 

LuciLE,  stopping  short. 
Very  well,  then;  since  you  will  not  listen  to 
me,   keep  your  own  thoughts,    and  do  as  you 
please. 

Nicole,  stopping  also. 
If  that 's  your  behavior,  have  it  all  your  own 
way. 

CLifioNTE,  looking  at  Lucile. 
Let  me  know  the  reason  of  such  a  greeting. 

Lucile,  walking  away,  and  avoiding  Cleonte. 
I  no  longer  choose  to  give  it. 

CoviELLE,  looking  at  Nicole. 
Explain  the  matter  a  little. 

Nicole,  walking  away,  and  avoiding  Covielle. 
Not  I ;  I  don't  care  to  explain  it  now. 

Cl^onte,  following  Lucile. 
Tell  me  — 


256  BOUEGEOIS  GENTILHOMME     [Act  1I> 

LuciLB,  still  walking  away,  not  looking  at 
Cleonte. 

No ;  I  have  nothing  to  tell. 

CoviELLE,  following  Nicole. 

Say- 

NicOLB,  still  walking  away,  not  looking  at 

Covielle. 
No;  I  have  nothing  to  say. 

Cleonte* 
I  entreat  — 

LuciLE. 
No,  I  tell  you. 

Covielle,  to  Nicole. 
For  pity's  sake  ! 

Nicole. 
On  no  account. 

Cleonte. 
I  implore  you  — 

Lucile. 
Leave  me. 

Covielle,  to  Nicole. 
I  conjure  you  — 

Nicole. 
Out  of  my  sight ! 


scbkbX]  bourgeois  gentilhomme 

Cl:6onte. 

Lucile  ! 

Lucile. 

No! 

COVIELLE. 

Nicole ! 

Nicole. 

No,  I  say. 

Cl^onte. 

In  the  name 

of  all  the  gods  — 

Lucile. 

I  will  not. 

Covielle. 

Speak  to  me, 

Nicole. 

I  won't. 

Cl^onte. 

Clear  up  my 

doubts. 

Lucile. 

I  shall  do  nothing  of  the  kind. 

Covielle. 

Cure  my  pain. 

257 


Nicole. 
No,  I  don't  choose  to. 

ClI^onte. 
Very  well,  then ;    since  you  care  so  little  to 
relieve  me  of  suffering,  or  to  justify  yourself  for 
-  17 


268  BOURGEOIS  GENTILHOMME     [Act  III 

the  unworthy  manner  in  which  you  have  treated 
my  love,  you  now  see  me,  ungrateful  woman,  for 
the  last  time.  I  go  — far,  far  from  you,  to  die 
of  grief  and  love. 

CoviELLE,  to  Nicole. 
I  follow  him  to  do  the  same. 

LuciLE,  to  Cleonte,  who  is  going  out. 
Cl^onte! 

Nicole,  to  Covielle,  who  follows  his  master. 

Covielle  ! 

CLioNTE,  stopping. 
Eh! 

Covielle,  stopping. 

What  now  ? 

LUCILE. 

Where  are  you  going  ? 

Cl^onte. 
Where  I  told  you. 

Covielle. 
We  are  going  to  die. 

LuciLE. 
Are  you  going  to  die,  Cleonte  ? 

Cleonte. 
Yes,  cruel  woman,  since  you  will  it. 


Scene  X]    BOUKGEOIS  GENTILHOMME       259 

LUCILE. 

I  ?     I  will  that  you  should  die ! 

Cl^onte. 
Yes ;  it  is  your  will. 

LuciLE. 
Who  says  so  1 

CLioNTE,  approaching  Lucile. 
Is  it  not  willing  it,  when  you  do  not  choose 
to  relieve  my  suspicions? 

Lucile. 
Was  it  my  fault  ?  If  you  had  only  listened 
to  me,  I  would  have  told  you  that  the  greeting 
you  resent  was  caused  by  the  presence  of  my  old 
aunt,  who  thinks  that  the  mere  approach  of  a 
man  dishonors  a  girl,  and  is  perpetually  lectur- 
ing us  on  the  subject,  and  telling  us  th^t  men 
are  devils  from  whom  we  ought  to  flee. 

Nicole,  to  Covielle. 
That 's  the  whole  secret  of  the  matter. 

Cl^onte. 
You  are  not  deceiving  me,  Lucile  ? 

Covielle,  to  Nicole. 
Ought  I  to  believe  you  ? 


260  BOURGEOIS  GENTILHOMME    [Act  HI 

LuciLE,  to  Cleonte. 
Nothing  could  be  more  true. 

Nicole,  to  Covielle. 
'Tis  truth  itself. 

Covielle,    to  Cleonte. 
Shall  we  give  in  ? 

CL]feONTE. 

Ah!  Lucile,  how,  with  one  word  from  your 
lips,  you  can  soothe  the  trouble  in  my  heart; 
how  readily  we  are  persuaded  by  those  we  love ! 

Covielle. 
How  easily  these  young  devils  can  cajole  us ! 


SCENE  ELEVENTH 

Madame  Jourdain,  CLtoNTB,  Lucile,  Covielle, 

Nicole 

Madame  Joubdain. 

I  am  very  glad  to  see  you,  Cleonte ;  you  are 
here  in  the  nick  of  time.  My  husband  is  com- 
ing in.  Seize  this  opportunity  to  ask  for  Lucile 
in  marriage. 


scbnkxti]    bourgeois  GENTILHOMME    261 

Cl]6onte. 

Ah,  madame,  how  sweet  those  words,  and 
how  they  encourage  my  desires  !  Could  I  re- 
ceive an  order  more  dear,  a  favor  more  precious 
to  me? 


SCENE  TWELFTH 

CLioNTE,  Monsieur  Jouedain,  Mauame  Jourbain, 
LcciLE,  Covielle,  Nicole 

Cl^onte,   to  Monsieur  Jourdain. 

Monsieur,  I  have  been  unwilling  to  employ 
others  to  make  you  a  request  I  have  long  medi- 
tated. It  touches  me  so  closely  that  I  wish  to 
proffer  it  myself ;  and,  without  further  circum- 
locution, I  now  say  that  the  honor  of  being 
your  son-in-law  is  a  glorious  favor  which  I  ask 
you  to  bestow  upon  me. 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 

Before  replying  to  you,  monsieur,  I  must  beg 
you  to  tell  me  whether  you  are  a  nobleman. 

Cl^onte. 

Monsieur,  most  men  would  not  hesitate  long 
over  that  question ;  the  answer  would  be  quickly 
given.     Such  men  have  no  scruple  in  adopting 


262  BOURGEOIS  GENTILHOMME    [Act  III 

that  title,  and  the  customs  of  the  present  day 
seem  to  authorize  the  theft.  For  myself,  I 
will  own  to  you  I  have  feelings  in  this  matter 
which  are  somewhat  more  delicate.  I  think 
that  all  imposture  is  unworthy  of  an  honest 
man.  It  is  a  base  thing  to  disguise  the  position 
in  which  Heaven  has  willed  that  we  he  horn, 
and  to  disguise  ourselves  to  the  eyes  of  the 
world  with  a  stolen  title,  —  in  other  words,  to 
give  ourselves  out  for  what  we  are  not.  I  am 
born  of  parents  who  undoubtedly  held  honor- 
able offices ;  I  have  myself  the  honor  of  having 
served  six  years  under  arms,  and  I  have  property 
enough  to  maintain  a  passably  fair  position  in 
the  world.  But,  with  all  that,  I  will  not  give 
myself  a  name  to  which  others  in  my  place 
would  think  they  had  a  right,  and  I  tell  you 
frankly  I  am  not  a  nobleman. 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 

Enough  said,  monsieur;  my  daughter  is  not 
for  you. 

Cli^ontb. 
What! 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 

You  are  not  a  nobleman,  and  you  cannot  have 
my  daughter. 


Scene  XII]    BOURGEOIS  GENTILHOMME     263 

Madame  Joubdain. 

What  do  you  mean,  husband,  with  your  noble- 
men? Are  you  and  I  of  the  loins  of  Saint- 
Louis,    I  'd  like  to  know. 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 

Be  silent,  wife,  I  expect  to  see  you  in  the 
ranks  of  the  nobility. 

Madame  Jourdain. 

Don't  we  both  descend  from  the  good  old 
bourgeoisie  1 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 
That 's  a  slander.  , 

Madame  Jourdain. 

Was  n't  your  father  a  tradcisman,  as  well  as 
minel 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 

Plague  take  the  woman!  she  never  misses  a 
chance  to  annoy  me.  If  your  father  was  a 
tradesman,  so  much  the  worse  for  him ;  but  as 
for  mine,  persons  would  be  very  ill-advised 
who  said  such  a  thing.  All  I  have  to  say  to 
you  now  is  that  I  insist  on  having  a  nobleman 
for  my  son-in-law. 


264  BOUKGEOIS  GENTILHOMME    [Act  IH 

Madame  Jourdain. 
Your  daughter  should  have  a  suitable  hus- 
band ;  and  it  will  be  far  better  for  her  to  marry 
an  honest  man  who  is  rich  and  well-made  than 
some  beggarly,  deformed  nobleman. 

Nicole. 
That  is  true.     There  's  the  son  of  a  noble- 
man  in   our   village  who  is  crooked,   and  the 
silliest  booby  that  ever  I  saw. 

Monsieur  Jourdain,  to  Nicole. 

Hold  your  tongue,  impertinent  girl;  you  are 

forever  sticking  yourself  into  the  conversation. 

I  have  property  enough  for  my  daughter ;  what 

*I  require  is  rank  and  honors  for  her.     I  intend 

to  make  her  a  marchioness. 

Madame  Jourdain. 
A  marchioness! 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 
Yes,  a  marchioness. 

Madame  Jourdain. 
Alas  !   God  keep  us  from  it. 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 
That  is  a  thing  I  am  resolved  upon. 


Scene  Xn]    BOURGEOIS  GENTILHOMME     265 

Madame  Joubdain. 

It  is  a  thing  that  I  will  never  consent  to. 
Marriages  with  those  above  us  are  always 
subject  to  great  annoyances.  I  don't  want  a 
son-in-law  who  would  reproach  my  daughter 
with  her  parents.  Neither  do  I  want  her  to 
have  children  who  would  be  ashamed  to  call 
me  grandmamma.  If  she  came  to  see  me  in 
her  fine-lady  equipage,  and  chanced,  by  mistake, 
not  to  bow  to  all  the  folks  in  the  quarter,  they 
would  tell  a  hundred  ill-natured  things  about 
her.  "  See, "  they  'd  say,  "  see  that  marchioness 
who  thinks  herself  so  grand ;  that 's  the  daughter 
of  Monsieur  Jourdain,  who  was  glad  enough  to 
play  with  us  when  she  was  little.  She  wasn't 
always  so  high  and  mighty  as  she  is  now ;  her 
grandfathers  both  sold  cloth  close  to  the  gate 
of  Saint-Innocent.  ,  They  piled  up  money  for 
their  children,  and  they  may  be  doing  penance 
for  it  to  this  day  in  purgatory  —  for  people 
don't  get  so  rich  by  being  honest  men."  I 
tell  you  I  don't  want  to  hear  such  cackle. 
I  want  a  man  who  will  be  under  an  obliga- 
tion to  me  for  giving  him  my  daughter,  and  to 
whom  I  can  say :  "  Sit  you  there,  son-in-law, 
and  dine  with  us." 


£66  BOURGEOIS  "GENTILHOMME    [Act  III 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 
Those  are  the  sentiments  of  a  small  mind, 
willing  to  remain  always  in  a  base  condition. 
Make  me  no  further  talk.  My  daughter  will 
be  a  marchioness  in  spite  of  everybody;  and 
if  you  put  me  out  of  temper  I  '11  make  her  a 
duchess. 


SCENE  THIRTEENTH 

Madame  Joukdain,  Lucile,  Cleonte,  Nicole, 
covielle 

Madame  Jourdain. 
Cleonte,  don't  lose  courage  yet.     ( Jb  Lucile) 
Come,   my  daughter,  follow  me,  and  tell  your 
father   resolutely    that   if    you    cannot    marry 
Cleonte  you  will  not  marry  any  one. 


SCENE  FOURTEENTH 

Cleonte,  Covielle 

COVIELLE. 

A  fine  business  you  have  made  of  it  with 
your  lofty  sentiments. 

Cleonte. 
How  could   I  help  it?     I  have  scruples  on 
that  head  that  the  example   of  others  cannot 
conquer. 


Scene  XIV]  BOUKGEOIS  GENTILHOMME     267 

COVIELLE. 

It  is  a  great  mistake  to  treat  that  man  so 
seriously.  Don't  you  see  that  he  is  crazy  ?  It 
would  n't  have  cost  you  much  to  give  in  to  his 
vagaries. 

Cleonte. 

You  are  right  there.  But  how  could  I 
know  that  I  had  to  give  proofs  of  being  a 
nobleman  in  order  to  become  the  son-in-law 
of   Monsieur   Jourdain? 

CoviELLE,  laughing. 
Ha,  ha,  ha!  ha,  ha! 

CLiONTE. 

What  are  you  laughing  at  ? 

CoviELLE. 
At  an  idea  that  has  just  come  into  my  head 
of  how  to  trick  our  man  and  make  him  give  you 
what  you  want. 

CL:fiONTE. 

How? 

CoviELLE. 

The  idea  is  such  a  f  upny  one  I 

Cl^onte. 
But  what  is  it  1 


268  BOURGEOIS  GENTILHOMME     [Act  III 

COVIELLE. 

A  certain  masquerade  has  lately  been  invented 
which  will  come  in  finely  here.  I  '11  produce 
it,  and  play  a  joke  on  that  ridiculous  old 
fellow.  It  smells  a  little  of  farce,  to  be  sure, 
but  no  matter ;  it  is  safe  to  risk  anything  with 
him ;  we  need  n't  be  too  particular.  He  is 
sure  to  play  his  part  in  any  case,  and  we  can 
easily  make  him  believe  in  all  the  absurdities 
we  choose  to  tell  him.  I  know  the  actors  in 
the  business.  I  can  borrow  their  clothes  ready 
made.     Let  me  manage  it  all. 

Cl^ontb. 
But  explain  — 

COVIELLE. 

Yes,  I  '11  tell  you  all.  But  let  us  get  away 
now,  for  here   he   is,  coming  back. 


SCENE  FIFTEENTH 

Monsieur  Joubdain,  alone. 

What  the  devil  is  all  this  ?     They  find  fault 

with  me  about  my  great  lords,  when,  for  my 

part,  I  see   nothing  in   the   world  so   fine   as 

to  frequent  the  company  of  great  lords.     There 


Scene  XVH]  BOLTIGEOIS  GENTILHOMME     269 

are  no  honors  anywhere,  and  no  civility,  except 
with  them.  I  would  gladly  give  two  fingers 
of  my  hand  to  have  heen  born  a  count  or  a 
marquis. 


SCENE  SIXTEENTH 
Monsieur  Jourdain,  Lacquet 

Lacquey. 

Monsieur,  here  comes  Monsieur  le  comte  and 
he  is  conducting  a  lady  by  the  hand. 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 

Oh,  good  God !  and  I  have  some  orders  to  give  I 
Say  I  will  be  with  them  presently.    (Exit.) 


SCENE  SEVENTEENTH 
DobihIixe,  Dorante,  Lacquet 

Lacquey. 

Monsieur  tells  me  to  say  that  he  will  be  with 
you  presently. 

Dorante. 
Very  good. 


270  BOURGEOIS  GENTILHOMME     [Act  III 

SCENE  EIGHTEENTH 

DORIMilNE,    DORANTE 
DORIMiNE. 

I  do  not  know,  Dorante,  why  I  have  taken 
so  strange  a  step  as  to  allow  you  to  bring  me 
to  a  house  Avhere  I  know  no  one. 

Dorante. 

But  where  else,  madame,  can  my  love  enter- 
tain you,  since,  in  order  to  escape  remark,  you 
forbid  me  to  do  so  in  your   own  house  or  in 

mine? 

DoRiMixE. 

.  Do  you  not  see  that  I  am  insensibly  commit- 
ting myself  daily  more  and  more  by  receiving 
these  great  proofs  of  your  passion.  In  vain  I 
forbid  many  things;  you  weary  my  resistance; 
and  you  show  a  civil  obstinacy  which  makes 
me,  little  by  little,  do  all  you  wish.  Frequent 
visits  were  the  beginning,  declarations  followed; 
and  after  that  came  serenades  and  gifts  and 
presents.  I  have  opposed  them  all,  but  you 
will  not  be  rebuffed;  and  foot  by  foot  you 
have  conquered  my  resolutions.  I  can  no 
longer  answer  for  myself,  and  I  believe  you 
will  bring  me  finally  to  marriage,  for  which  I 
have  had  so  great  an  aversion. 


Scene  XVni]  BOURGEOIS  GENTILHOMME   271 

DORAXTE. 

Faith!  madame,  you  ought  to  have  accepted 
it  ere  this.  You  are  a  widow  and  wholly 
independent;  I  am  master  of  myself,  and  I 
love  you  better  than  my  life;  therefore,  why 
will  you  not  from  this  day  forth  consent  to 
make  my  happiness? 

DOBIM^NE. 

Good  heavens,  Dorante  !  —  so  many  good 
qualities  are  needed  on  both  sides  before  two 
persons  can  live  happily  together.  The  most 
sensible  people  in  the  world  often  find  difficulty 
in  making  a  marriage  that  really  satisfies  them. 

Dorante. 
You   are   mistaken,    madame,    in    imagining 
such  difficulties;  the  experience  that  you  once 
had  is  no  ground  on  which  to  judge  of  others. 

DORIMiNE. 

I  always  return  to  one  point:  the  expenses 
that  I  see  you  incur  on  my  behalf  make  me 
very  uneasy,  and  for  two  reasons :  first,  because 
they  commit  me  more  than  I  wish  to  be  com- 
mitted; and  next,  because  I  am  sure  —  not  to 
displease  you  —  that  you  cannot  incur  them 
without  serious  inconvenience  to  yourself;  and 
that  is  a  thing  which  I  cannot  allow. 


272  BOURGEOIS  GENTILHOMME    [Act  III 

DOKANTE. 

Ah,  madame,  they  are  but  trifles.  It  is  not 
in  that  way  that  1  — 

DoRIMiNE. 

I  know  what  I  am  saying.  For  instance, 
among  other  things,  this  diamond,  which  you 
have  forced  me  to  accept,  is  of  great  price, 
and  — 

DOBANTE. 

Madame,  I  entreat  you,  do  not  set  such  value 
on  a  thing  my  love  thinks  quite  unworthy  of 
your  charms,  and  suffer  me  —  But  here  comes 
the  master  of  the  house. 


SCENE  NINETEENTH 

MONSIBVB  JOUKDAIN,   DOBIMtNE,   DOBANTK 

Monsieur  Joubdain.    After  making  two 
bows  he  finds  himself  too  close  to  Dorimene. 

A  little  farther  back,  madame. 

DoBIMiKE. 

How? 

MoNsiEUB  Joubdain. 
One  step,  if  you  please. 


Monsieur  JOURDAIN.      a  little  farther 
back,  madame. 

LE  BOURGEOIS  GENTILHOMME,  Act  III.,  Sc.  xix. 

VOL.  I.,  Page  272 


Scene  XIX]  BOURGEOIS  GENTILHOMME     273 
DORIM^NE. 

But  why  ? 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 
Draw  back  a  little  —  that  I  may  make  the 
third. 

DORANTE. 

Madame,  Monsieur  Jourdain  knows  his  com- 
pany. 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 

Madame,  it  is  to  me  a  very  great  glory  to  see 
myself  so  fortunate,  to  be  so  happy,  as  to  have 
the  felicity  that  you  have  had  the  goodness  to 
grant  me  the  indulgence,  to  do  me  the  honor  to 
honor  me  with  the  favor  of  your  presence ;  and 
if  I  had  also  the  merit,  to  merit  a  merit  like 
yours,  and  that  Heaven  —  envious  of  my  happi- 
ness—  had  granted  me  —  the  advantage  to  see 
myself  worthy  —  of  the  — 

DORANTE. 

Monsieur  Jourdain,  you  have  said  enough. 
Madame  does  not  like  fine  compliments  and 
she  knows  you  are  a  man  of  parts.  (Aside  to 
Dorimene)  He  is  a  worthy  bourgeois,  rather 
ridiculous,  as  you  see,  in  all  his  ways. 

Dorimene,  aside  to  Dorante. 
It  is  not  very  difficult  to  see  that. 
18 


274  BOURGEOIS  GENTILHOMME     [Act  III 

DOKANTE. 

Madame,  this  is  one  of  my  best  friends. 

MOXSIEUR   JOUKDAIN". 

You  do  me  too  much  honor,  monsieur. 

DORANTE. 

A  gallant  man  in  every  way. 

DORIMENE. 

I  feel  much  esteem  for  him. 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 

I  have  done  nothing  as  yet,  madame,  to  merit 
your  favor. 

DoBANTE,  aside  to  Monsieur  Jourdain. 

Take  care  not  to  say  a  word  about  that  dia- 
mond you  have  given  her. 

Monsieur  Jourdain,  aside  to  Dorante. 
Couldn't  I  just  ask  her  how  she  liked  it? 

Dorante,  aside  to  Monsieur  Jourdain. 

No !  be  most  careful  not  to  do  so ;  it  would 
be  shocking  taste.  If  you  wish  to  act  as  a  man 
of  gallantry  you  must  behave  as  if  it  were  not 
you  who  had  given  it  to  her.   (Aloud)  Monsieiu* 


Scene  XIX]    BOURGEOIS  GENTILHOMME     275 

Jourdain  is  saying,  madame,  how  delighted  he 
is  to  see  you  ia  his  house. 

DORIMiNE. 

He  does  me  much  honor. 

Monsieur  Jourdain,  low  to  Dorante. 
How  much  obliged  I  am  that  you  talk  to  her 
in  that  style  for  me. 

DoKANTE,  low  to  MonsieuT  Jourdain. 
I  have  had  the  greatest  diflficulty  in  persuading 
her  to  come. 

Monsieur  Jourdain,  low  to  Dorante. 
I  don't  know  how  to  thank  you  enough. 

Dorante. 
He  says,  madame,  that  he  thinks  you  the  most 
charming  person  in  the  world. 

DorimAne. 
He  is  really  very  gracious. 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 
Madame,  it  is  you  who  are  gracious  in  doing 
me  the  favor  to  — 

Dorante. 
Come,  let  us  think  of  eating. 


276  BOURGEOIS  GENTILHOMME     [Act  IH 

SCENE  TWENTIETH 
Monsieur  Joukdain,  DoRiuiiNE,  Dorante,  Lacquey 

Lacquey,  to  Monsieur  Jourdain. 
All  is  ready,  monsieur. 

Dorante. 
Very  good ;  let  us  sit  down  to  table,  and  order 
the  musicians  to  come  in. 

BALLET. 

Six  cooks,  who  have  prepared  the  banquet, 
dance  together;  after  which  they  bring  in  a 
table  covered  with  viands. 


END   OF   ACT  THIBD. 


Scene  I]     BOURGEOIS  GENTILHOMME        277 


art  JFonrtJ 


SCENE  FIRST 
DoEiicfeNB,  Monsieur  Jouedain,  Doeantb,  thbeb 

MUSICIANS,   LACQUET8 
DORTMiNE. 

Why  !  really,  Dorante,  this  is  a  most  magnifi- 
cent repast. 

MoNsiEUB  Jouedain. 

You  are  jesting,  madame ;  I  wish  it  were  far 
more  worthy  of  being  offered  to  you. 

Dorimene,  Monsieur  Jourdain,  Dorante^  and 
the  three  musicians  sit  down  to  table. 

Dorante. 
Monsieur  Jourdain  is  right,  madame,  to  speak 
as  he  does.  I  am  greatly  obliged  to  him  for 
doing  the  honors  of  his  house  so  kindly.  I 
agree  with  him  that  the  dinner  is  not  worthy  of 
you.  As  I  ordered  it  without  consulting  the 
experience  of  friends,  it  may  not  be  a  well- 
chos^  repast;  you  will  find  some  incongruities 


278  BOURGEOIS  GEXTILHOMME     [Act  IV 

of  good  living  and  certain  barbarities  of  taste. 
Now  if  our  friend  Damis  bad  taken  part  in  tbe 
affair,  all  would  have  been  in  due  form,  —  ele- 
gance and  culinary  erudition  everywhere.  He 
would  not  have  failed  to  praise,  himseK,  all  the 
dishes  that  he  set  before  you,  and  to  make  you 
conscious  of  his  high  capacity  in  the  science  of 
good  food.  He  would  have  called  your  atten- 
tion to  that  loaf  of  bread,  baked  by  itself,  with 
a  golden  crust  on  all  sides,  crisp  to  the  teeth; 
and  to  the  wine,  with  a  velvety  flavor  and  yet  a 
tartness  not  too  controlling ;  and  to  that  haunch 
of  mutton,  garnished  with  parsley ;  that  loin  of 
meadow  veal,  so  white  and  delicate  that  it  eats 
to  the  teeth  like  almond  paste;  and  the  par- 
tridges, highly  seasoned,  of  surprising  flavor; 
and,  for  the  great  feature  of  all,  that  soup  of 
barley  broth,  supported  by  a  plump  young  tur- 
key, flanked  with  pigeons  and  smothered  in 
white  onions  mashed  with  chicory.  But,  as  for 
me,  I  own  my  ignorance,  and,  as  Monsieur 
Jourdain  has  well  said,  I  wish  the  repast  were 
more  worthy  of  being  offered  to  you. 

DORIM^NE. 

I  can  only  reply  to  that  compliment  by  eating 
as  you  see  I  am  doing.  • 


scb»bI]    bourgeois  GENTILHOMME        279 

Monsieur  Joubdain. 
Ah,  what  beautiful  hands! 

DORIMiNE. 

The  hands  are  insignificant,  Monsieur  Jour- 
dain;  you  are  speaking,  I  am  sure,  of  the  dia- 
mond, which  is,  in  truth,  very  fine. 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 
I,  madame  ?     God  forbid  that  I  should  speak 
of  it !  It  would  not  be  acting  like  a  man  of  gal- 
lantry ;  and  the  diamond  is  a  very  poor  thing. 

DORIMilNE. 

You  seem  quite  disgusted  with  it. 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 
You  are  only  too  kind  to  — 

DoRANTE,  making  a  sign  to  Monsieur  Jour- 
dain. 
Come,   give  wine  to  Monsieur  Jourdain  and 
to  these  gentlemen,  who  will  have  the  kindness 
to  sing  us  a  drinking-song. 

DORIMi^NE. 

What  a  delightful  seasoning  to  good  food,  to 
mingle  it  with  music  !  I  am  indeed  most  charm- 
ingly regaled. 


280  BOURGEOIS  GENTILHOMME     [Act  IV 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 
I  assure  you,  madame,  it  is  not  — 

DORANTE. 

Monsieur  Jourdain,  let  us  be  silent  and  listen 
to  these  gentlemen,  who  will  enable  us  to  hear 
something  far  better  than  our  own  words. 

FiBST  AND  Second  Mcsicians,  together,  glass  in  hand. 
Drink,  friends,  drink 
For  time  is  flying ! 
Life  is  short,  there  's  no  denying ; 
But  here  's  the  way 
To  make  it  gay 
And  grasp  its  profits  while  we  may. 

Second  and  Third  Musicians,  together. 
When  we  have  passed  the  Stygian  shore. 
Farewell  good  wine  f orevermore ; 

Haste  then  to  drink 

Upon  the  brink 
Of  that  dark  flood  where  time  'a  no  more. 

First  and  Second  Musicians,  together. 
Leave  fools  to  reason  as  they  please 
On  earth's  true  joys,  and  life's  true  ease ; 

Wealth,  wisdom,  fame 

Are  carking  cares ; 

What  earthly  joy 

With  wine  compares? 

All  Three,  together. 
Then  drink,  friends,  drink. 
Upon  the  shore 
Of  that  dark  flood  where  time 's  no  more ! 


Scene  IJ    BOURGEOIS  GENTILHOMME  281 

DORIMisTE. 

I  never  heard  finer  singing;  it  is  altogether 
beautiful. 

MONSIEUB   JOURDAIN. 

I  see  something  here,    madame,    that  is  far 
more  beautiful. 

DoRIMiXE. 

Dear  me !  Monsieur  Jourdain  is  more  gallant 
than  I  supposed. 

DORANTE. 

What  did  you  take  Monsieur  Jourdain   for, 

madame  1 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 

I  would  that  she  would  take  me   for  what 

[  feel  to  her. 

DORIMiNB 

What,  more  gallantry! 

DORANTB. 

You  do  not  know  him. 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 
She  shall  know  me,  whenever  it  pleases  her. 

DORIM^NE. 

Oh!  I  desist. 

DoRANTE. 

Monsieur  Jourdain  is  a  man  who  always  has 
his  repartee  at  hand.     But  do  you  not  observe, 


282  BOURGEOIS  GENTILHOMME     [Act  IV 

madame,  that  he  is  eating  all  the  morsels  that 
you  have  touched? 

DORIMENE. 

Monsieur  Jourdain  enraptures  me. 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 
If  I  could  but  enrapture  your  heart,  I  should  — 


SCENE   SECOND 
Madame  Jourdain,  Monsieur  Jourdain,  DorimIine, 

DORANTE,    musicians,    LACQUEYS 

Madame  Jourdain. 
Ah !  ah !  I  find  company,  and  I  see  plainly 
enough  I  am  not  expected.  So  it  was  for  this 
fine  affair,  husband,  that  you  were  so  eager  to 
send  me  to  dine  with  your  sister  1  I  have  just 
seen  the  stage-players  downstairs,  and  here  I 
find  a  banquet  fit  for  a  wedding.  This  is  how 
you  spend  your  money,  and  feast  ladies  in  my 
absence;  it  seems  you  give  them  music  and 
comedy  while  you  send  me  marching. 

DoRANTE. 

What    do    you    mean,    Madame    Jourdain? 
What   foolish   fancy   is  this?     Why  have  you 


Scene  11]    BOURGEOIS  GENTILHOMME        283 

taken  it  into  your  head  that  your  husband  is 
spending  his  money  and  giving  this  banquet  to 
madame  ?  Let  me  inform  you  that  it  is  I  who 
am  doing  so;  he  has  only  lent  me  his  house  for 
the  feast.  You  ought  to  look  more  carefully 
into  the  things  you  say. 

MONSIEUK   JOURDAIN. 

Yes,  foolish  woman;  Monsieur  le  comte  is 
giving  all  this  to  madame,  who  is  a  person  of 
quality.  He  does  me  the  honor  to  use  my 
house  and  to  allow  me  to  be  present. 

Madame  Jourdain. 
All  that  is  nonsense ;  I  know  what  I  know . 

Dob  ANTE. 

Wear  better  spectacles,  madame. 

Madame  Jourdain. 
I  don't  need  spectacles,  monsieur,  my  eyes 
are  good.  I  have  long  scented  these  things,  and 
I  am  not  a  fool.  It  is  villanous  of  you,  who 
call  yourself  a  great  lord,  to  lend  a  hand  as  you 
do  to  my  husband's  folly.  And  you,  madame, 
great  lady  as  you  are,  it  is  neither  noble  nor 
virtuous  to  bring  dissensions  into  a  home,  and 
td  allow  my  husband  to  be  in  love  with  you. 


284  BOURGEOIS  GENTILHOMME     [Act  IV 

DOKIMENE. 

What  does  all  this  mean?  Dorante,  you 
have  made  a  strange  mistake  to  expose  me  to 
.the  silly  fancies  of  this  raving  woman. 

Dorante,  to  Dorimene,  who  goes  out. 
Madame !    wait !    madame !    where    are    you 

going? 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 

Madame !    Monsieur  le  comte,  make  her  my 
excuses;  entreat  her  to  return. 


SCENE  THIRD 
MoNSiEus  Jourdain,  Madame  Jodedain,  Lacqubt 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 
There,  insolent  woman  that  you  are !  —  see 
your    fine    doings !      You   have    insulted    me 
before  the   world;    you  have   driven  from  my 
house  persons  of  quality. 

Madame  Jourdain. 
I^don't  care  a  fig  for  their  quality. 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 
I  don't  know  what  prevents  me,  confounded 
woman,  from  flinging  those  dishes  at  your  head. 


Scene  V]    BOURGEOIS  GENTILHOMME         285 

Madame  Jourdaix,  going  out. 
A  fig  for  that,  too  !  I  am  defending  ray  rights, 
and  I  shall  have  all  the  women  on  my  side. 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 
You  do  well  to  escape  my  wrath. 


SCENE  FOURTH 

Monsieur  Jourdain,  alone. 

She  came  at  a  most  unfortunate  moment.     I 

was  just   in   the   humor   to    say   the   prettiest 

things.     1  never  felt  myself  so   full  of  wit  — 

Why,  who's  this? 

— ^-^ 

SCENE  FIFTH 
Monsieur  Jourdain,  Covielle,  disguised 

Covielle. 
Monsieur,  I  do  not  know  if  you  do  me  the 
honor  to  remember  me. 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 
I  do  not,  monsieur. 

Covielle,  holding  his  hand  near  the  ground. 
And  yet  1  Knew  you  when  you  were  only  so 
high. 


286  BOURGEOIS  GENTILHOMME     [Act  IV 

Monsieur  Joubdain. 
Mel 

COVIELLE. 

Yes.  You  were  the  handsomest  child  in  the 
world,  and  all  the  ladies  took  you  in  their  arms 
and  kissed  you. 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 
Kissed  me? 

Covielle. 

Yes.  I  was  a  great  friend  of  that  true  gentle- 
man your  father. 

Monsieur   Jourdain. 
That  true  gentleman  my  father  ? 

Covielle. 
Yes.     He  was  a  very  worthy  nobleman. 

Monsieur  Joubdain. 
What  did  you  say  1 

Covielle. 
I  said  he  was  a  very  worthy  nobleman. 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 
My  father  ? 

Covielle. 
Yes. 

MoNSiEUB  Joubdain 

Did  you  know  him  well  ? 


Scene  VJ    BOURGEOIS  GENTILHOMME         287 
COVIELLE. 

Extremely  well. 

MONSIEUK   JOURDATN. 

And  you  knew  him  to  be  a  nobleman  ? 

COVIELLE. 

Undoubtedly. 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 
I  don't  know  what  the  world  is  made  of ! 

COVIELLE. 

How  so  1 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 
There  are  foolish  people  who  insist  that  my 
father  was  a  tradesman. 

COVIELLE. 

He  !  a  tradesman?  That  is  pure  scandal; 
he  never  was  anything  of  the  sort.  Wliat  he 
did  in  that  way  was  out  of  kindness,  in  order  to* 
be  obliging.  As  he  knew  a  great  deal  about 
fine  stuffs,  he  selected  them  on  all  sides  and  had 
them  sent  home ;  and  then  he  gave  them  to  his 
friends  for  money. 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 
I  am  delighted  to  know  you,  and  to  receive 
your  testimony  that  my  fatlier  was  a  nobleman. 


288  BOURGEOIS  GENTILHOMME     [Act  IV 

COVIELLE. 

That  I  -will  maintain  before  all  the  world. 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 
You  will  oblige  me  very  much  if  you  will  do 
so.     But  what  has  brought  you  to  me  now  1 

COVIELLE. 

Since  the  time  that  I  knew  your  late  father, 
that  worthy  nobleman,  I  have  travelled  over 
the  whole  world. 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 
Over  the  whole  world  1 

COVIELLE. 

Yes. 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 

I  suppose  it  is  a  large  country  1 
Covielle. 
.    Of  course.     I  returned  from  my  long  jour- 
ney only  four  days  ago ;  and,  on  account  of  the 
interest  I   have   always   felt  in  what  concerns 
you,  I  have  come  to  bring  you  some  good  news. 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 
What  news  1 

Covielle. 

You  know  that  the  son  of  the  Grand  Turk 
is  here? 


scenbV]   bourgeois  GENTILHOMME       289 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 
I?    No. 

COVIELLE. 

What !  not  know  it  ?  He  has  arrived  in  the 
most  magnificent  style ;  the  world  is  flocking  to 
see  him;  he  has  been  received  in  this  country 
as  a  lord  of  great  importance. 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 
Faith !     I  did  not  know  it. 

COVIELLE. 

And  the  great  advantage  to  you  is  that  he 
is  in  love  with  your  daughter. 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 
The  son  of  the'  Grand  Turk  1 

COVIELLE. 

Yes;  he  wishes  to  be  your  son-in-law. 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 
My  son-in-law,  the  son  of  the  Grand  Turk  1 

Covielle. 

The  son  of  the  Grand  Turk  your  son-in-law. 

As  I  understand  his  language  perfectly  I  went 

at  once  to  see  him ;  he  conversed  with  me,  and 

after  some  other  remarks  he  said:     Acciam  croc 

19 


290  BOURGEOIS  GENTILHOMME    [Act  IV 

soler  onch  alia  moustaph  gidelum  amanahem 
varahini  oussere  carbulath  y  whicli  means, 
"  Did  you  ever  see  a  beautiful  young  woman 
who  is  the  daughter  of  a  Parisian  nobleman, 
Monsieur  Jourdain  ? " 

Monsieur  Joubdain. 
Tlie  son  of  the  Grand  Turk  said  that  of  me  ? 

COVIELLE. 

Yes.  When  I  replied  that  I  knew  you  partic- 
ularly well,  and  that  I  had  seen  your  daughter, 
"Ah!"  he  said,  "  marababa  sahem!"  which 
means,  *'  Ah  !  I  am  in  love  with  her  !  " 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 
Marababa  sahem  means,  "  Ah,  I  am  in  love 
with  her"? 

COVIELLE. 

Yes. 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 

Faith !  you  do  well  to  tell  me ;  I  never 
should  have  thought,  myself,  that  marababa 
sahem  meant,  "  Ah  !  I  am  in  love  with  her. " 
What  an  admirable  language  Turk  is! 

COVIELLE. 

More  admirable  than  people  have  any  idea  of. 
Do  you  know  what  cacaracamouchen  means  ? 


ScekeV]    bourgeois  GENTILHOMME       291 

Monsieur  Joukdain. 
Cacaracamouchen  ?    No. 

COVIELLE. 

It  means,   "  My  dear  soul." 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 
Cacaracamouchen  means,    "  My  dear  soul  1  " 

COVIELLE. 

Yes. 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 

But  this  is  marvellous  !  Cacaracamouchen, 
"  My  dear  soul. "  But  how  can  I  ever  say  it  ? 
That  confounds  me, 

Covielle. 
So  —  to  fulfil  my  embassy  —  he  is  coming  to 
ask  for  your  daughter  in  marriage ;  and,  in  order 
to  have  a  father-in-law  whose  rank  is  worthy  of 
his  own,  he  wishes  to  make  you  Mamamouchi ; 
which  is  a  certain  great  dignity  in  his  country. 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 
Mamamouchi  ? 

Covielle. 
Yes,   Mamamoiichi ;   which    means   in    our 
language  "  paladin."     Paladins  were  the  ancient 
—  paladins,  in  short.     There  is  nothing  more 


292  BOURGEOIS  GENTILHOMME     [Act  IV 

noble  in  all  the  world.     You  will  be  the  equal 
of  the  greatest  lords  of  the  earth. 

Monsieur  Joubdaix. 
The   son   of  the  Grand  Turk  does  me  much 
honor.     I  beg  you  to  take  me  to  him  that  I  may 
offer  my  acknowledgments. 

COVIELLE. 

On  the  contrary,  he  is  coming  here  to  see  you. 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 
Coming  here ! 

COVIELLE. 

Yes ;  and  he  will  bring  everything  with  him 
for  the  ceremony  of  installing  you  in  your  new 
dignity. 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 

He  is  very  prompt. 

COVIELLE. 

His  love  can  bear  no  delay. 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 
The  only  thing  that   troubles  me  is  that  my 
daughter  is  an  obstinate  girl,  who  has  taken  it 
into  her  head  to  fancy  a  certain  Cleonte,   and 
swears  she  will  not  marry  any  one  but  him. 


Scbnbvi]    bourgeois  GENTILHOMME     293 

covielle. 

She  will  change  her  mind  after  she  has  seen 
the  son  of  the  Grand  Turk.  And  besides, — 
here  's  a  curious  coincidence,  —  the  son  of  the 
Grand  Turk  is  very  like  Cleonte,  very  like 
indeed.  I  have  just  seen  Cleonte;  he  was 
pointed  out  to  rae.  The  love  she  has  for  one  can 
easily  pass  over  to  the  other,  and  —  But  the 
son  of  the  Grand  Turk  is  coming;  here  he  is. 


SCENE  SIXTH 

Cleonte,  dressed  as  a  Turk,  three   pages,  bear- 
ing a  vestment.  Monsieur  Jourdain,  Coviellb 

Cleonte. 
Ambousahim  oqui  boraf,  Jordina^  ,salamale- 
qui. 

CoviELLE,  to  Moiisieur  Jourdain. 
That  means :  "  Monsieur  Jourdain,  may  your 
heart  be  at  all  seasons  a  blooming  rose-bush." 
*T  is  a  polite  form  of  speech  in  his  country. 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 

I  am  the  very  humble  servant  of  his  Turkish 

Highness. 

CoviELLE. 

Carigar  camboto  oitstin  moraf. 


294  BOURGEOIS  GENTILHOMME     [Act  IV 

CliSonte. 

Oustin  yoc  catamalequi  basum  base  alia 
moran. 

COVIELLE. 

He  says :  "  May  heaven  give  you  the  strength 
of  lions  and  the  wisdom  of  serpents. " 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 

His  Turkish  Highness  honors  me  too  much, 
and  I  wish  him  every  sort  of  prosperity. 

COVIELLE. 

Ossa  binamen  sadoc  babally  oracaf  ouram. 

Cl^onte. 
Belmen. 

COVIELLE. 

He  says  that  you  are  to  go  at  once  with  him 
and  prepare  for  the  ceremony,  so  that  your 
daughter  maj'^  afterwards  be  sent  for  to  con- 
clude the  marriage. 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 
All  that  in  two  words  ? 

COVIELLE. 

Yes.  The  Turkish  language  is  made  like 
that;  it  says  much  in  few  words.  Go  with  him 
at  once,  as  he  wishes. 


scbnbvui]  bourgeois  GENTILHOMME    295 

SCENE   SEVENTH 

CoviELLE,  alone. 

Ha,  ha,  ha!  Faith,  if  that  isn't  droll! 
What  a  dupe  !  He  could  n't  play  his  part  better 
if  he  had  learned  it  by  heart.     Ha,  ha,  ha ! 


SCENE  EIGHTH 

DOKANTE,    COVIBLLE 
COVIELLE. 

Monsieur,  I  beg  you  to  help  us  in  a  matter 
we  are  carrying  on  just  now  in  this  house. 

DORANTE. 

Ha,  Cbvielle ;  who  would  recognize  you  ?  How 
you  are  disguised ! 

COVIELLE. 

Yes,  you  see.     Ha,  ha,  ha !  ha,  ha ! 

DoRANTE. 

What  are  you  laughing  at  ? 

COVIELLE. 

At  something  fit  to  make  one  laugh,  monsieuc 


296  BOURGEOIS  GENTILHOMME    [Act  IV 

DOBAaTTE. 

What  is  it? 

COVIELLE. 

I  '11  give  you  a  dozen  guesses,  monsieur,  to 
find  out  the  stratagem  we  are  playing  off  on 
Monsieur  Jourdain,  in  order  to  bring  him  round 
to  give  his  daughter  to  my  master. 

DOBANTE. 

I  can't  guess  the  stratagem ;  but  I  am  pretty 
sure  it  will  not  fail  to  do  its  work  if  you  under- 
take it,  Covielle. 

COVIELLE. 

You  know  what  a  blockhead  he  is  t 

DORANTE. 

Explain  the  trick  to  me. 

Covielle. 

Then  come  a  little  aside,  so  as  to  leave  space 
for  the  scene  which  is  just  about  to  take  place. 
You  shall  see  part  of  the  business,  and  I  '11  tell 
you  the  rest. 


Scene  IX]      BOUKGEOIS  GEXTILHOMME     297 


SCENE   NINTH 

The  Mufti,  Dervishes,  Turks,  assistants  of  the  Mufti, 
dancing  and  singing 

Six  Turks  enter  gravely,  two  and  two,  to  the 
sound  of  instruments.  They  carry  three  carpets, 
which,  after  making  several  figures  in  dancing, 
they  raise  very  high. 

Other  Turks,  singing  and  dancing,  pass  beneath 
these  carpets,  and  then  take  their  station  on 
each  side  of  the  stage.  The  Mufti,  followed  by 
the  Dervishes,  brings  up  the  rear. 

Then  the  six  Turks  spread  their  carpets  on 
the  ground  and  kneel  upon  them.  The  Mufti 
and  the  Dervishes  stand  erect  in  their  midst; 
and  while  the  Mufti  invokes  Mohammed,  by 
making  many  contorsions  and  grimaces  without 
uttering  a  word,  the  assistant  Turks  prostrate 
themselves  on  the  ground,  chanting  "  Allah !  " 
then  they  rise  and  lift  their  arms  to  heaven,  still 
chanting  "  Allah  !  "  which  movements  they  con- 
tinue till  the  end  of  the  invocation. 

After  which  all  rise,  chanting  "  Allah  akbar !  " 
and  two  of  the  Dervishes  go  out  to  fetch 
Monsieur  Jourdain. 


298         BOURGEOIS  GENTILHOMME    [Act  IV 


SCENE  TENTH  1 

The  Mufti,  Dervishes,  Turks,  singing  and  dancing ; 
Monsieur  Jourdain,  dressed  in  the  Turkish  fash- 
ion, his  head  shaved,  without  turban  or  scimitar 

The  Mufti,  to  Monsieur  Jourdain. 

Se  ti  sabir, 
Ti  respondir; 
Se  no  sabir, 
Tazir,  tazir. 

Mi  star  mufti 
Ti  qui  star  si  ? 
Non  intendir 
Tazir,  tazir. 

Two  Dervishes  draw    Monsieur  Jourdain 
aside. 

^  This  scene  is  in  the  Lingua  Franca,  which  was 
spoken  along  the  shores  of  the  Mediterranean  and  in  the 
Barbary  States.  It  is  a  mixture  of  Italian,  Spanish,  and 
Portuguese  dialects,  iu  which  the  verb  is  used  in  the 
infinitive  only.  A  few  Turkish  words  are  given,  which 
mean  as  follows  :  Yoc,  no.  Allah  Akbar,  God  is  great. 
Ei  Vallah  (Arabic),  yes,  by  God.  Allah,  God;  Baba, 
my  father;  Hoo  (Arabic)  He,  meaning  God.  The  nine- 
teenth century  does  not  need  a  translation  of  this  scene 
any  more  than  an  audience  of  the  seventeenth  century 
did.  — Tr. 


Scknexi]    bourgeois  GENTILHOMME      299 

SCENE  ELEVENTH 
The  Mdfti,  Dervishes,  Turks,  singing  and  dancing 

The  Mufti. 

Dice,  Turque,  qui  star  quista?    Anabatistal 
Anabatista  ? 

The  Turks. 


Yoc. 

The  Mufti. 

Zuinglista? 

The  Turks. 

Yoc. 

The  Mufti. 

Coffita? 

The  Turks. 

Yoc. 

The  Mufti. 

Hussita?     Morista?     Fronista? 

The  Turks. 

Yoc,  yoc,  yoc 

• 

The  Mufti. 

Yoc,  yoc,  yoc. 

Star  pagana  1 

The  Turks. 

Yoc. 

The  Mufti. 

Luterana? 

300  BOUKGEOIS  GENTILHOMME    [Act  IV 

The  Turks. 


Yoc. 

Puritana  1 
Yoc. 


The  Mufti. 
The  Turks. 


The  Mufti. 
Bramiua  ?     Moffina  1     Zurina  ? 

The  Turks. 
Yoc,  yoc,  yoc. 

The  Mufti. 

Yoc,  yoc,  yoc.     Maliametana  1    Mahametana  1 

The  Turks. 
EiVallah!     Ei  Vallah! 

The  Mufti,  twirling. 
Como  chamara  ?     Como  chamara  1 

The  Turks. 
Giourdina,  Giourdina. 

The  Mufti. 

Giourdina,  Giourdina. 

The  Turks. 
Giourdina,  Giourdina. 


Scene  Xn]     BOURGEOIS  GENTILHOMME     301 

The  Mufti. 
Mahameta,  per  Giourdina, 
Mi  pregar,  sera  e  matina. 
Voler  far  un  paladina 
De  Giourdina,  de  Giourdina; 
Dar  turbanta,  dar  scarriaa, 
Con  galera,  e  brigantina, 
Per  deffender  Palestina, 
Mahameta,  per  Giourdina, 
Mi  pregar,  sera  e  matina. 

{To  the  Turks) 
Star  bon  Turca  Giourdina  ? 

The  Turks. 
EiVallah!     EiVallah! 

The  Mufti,  exit  singing  and  dancing, 
Al,  lab,  Ba,  ba,  Hoo ;  Al,  lab,  Ba,  ba ! 

The  Turks. 
Al,  lab,  Ba,  ba,  Hoo;  Al,  lab,  Ba,  ba ! 


SCENE  TWELFTH 
Turks,  singing  and  dancing 


302  BOURGEOIS  GENTILHOMME    [Act  IV 


SCENE  THIRTEENTH 

The  Mufti,  Dervishes,  Monsieur  Jourdain,  Turks, 

singing  and  dancing 

The  Mufti  returns,  wearing  his  turban  of 
ceremony,  which  is  of  inordinate  size,  adorned 
with  lighted  tapers  disposed  in  four  or  five 
rows.  He  is  accompanied  by  two  Dervishes, 
who  carry  the  Koran  and  wear  pointed  caps, 
also  adorned  with  lighted  tapers.  . 

Two  other  Dervishes  lead  in  Monsieur  Jour- 
dain and  place  him  on  his  knees,  his  hands  on 
the  ground,  so  that  his  back,  on  which  they  lay 
the  Koran,  serves  as  a  pulpit  for  the  Mufti,  who 
makes  a  second  invocation,  frowning  his  eye- 
brows, striking  the  Koran  from  time  to  time, 
and  turning  the  leaves  precipitately ;  after  which, 
raising  his  arms  to  heaven,  the  Mufti  cries  in  a 
loud  voice :  "  Hoo !  " 

During  this  second  invocation  the  assistant 
Turks,  bowing  down  and  rising  alternately,  also 
chant  "Hoo!  hoo!  hoo!  " 

Monsieur  Jourdain,  after  they  have  taken 
the  Koran  from  his  back. 
Ouf! 


Scknbxiii]  bourgeois  GENTILHOMME    303 

The  Mufti,  to  Monsieur  Jourdain, 
Ti  non  star  furba  ? 

The  Turks. 
No,  no,  no. 

The  Mufti,  to  Monsieur  Jourdain. 
Non  star  f orfanta  1 

The  Turks. 
No,  no,  no. 

* 

The  Mufti,  to  the  Turks. 
Dona  tuibanta. 

The  Turks. 
Ti  non  star  furba  ? 

No,  no,  no. 
Non  star  f orfanta  ? 

No,  no,  no. 
Dona  turbanta. 

The  Turks,  dancing  around  Monsieur  Jour- 
dain, put  the  turban  on  his  head  to  the  sound 
of  instruments. 

The   Mufti,  giving  a  scimitar  to  Monsieur 

Jourdain. 

Ti  star  nobile,  non  star  fabbola. 

Pigliar  schiabbola. 


304  BOURGEOIS  GENTILHOMME     [Act  IV 

The  Tubks,  drawing  their  scimitars. 

Ti  star  nobile,  non  star  fabbola. 

Pigliar  schiabbola. 

The  Turhs,  dancing,  give  several  blows  with 
their  scimitars  in  cadence  to  Monsieur  Jourdain. 

The  Mufti. 
Dara,  dara, 
Bastonnara. 
Dara,  dara, 
Bastonnara. 

The  Turks,  dancing,  give  several  blows  with 
a  stick  to  Monsieur  Jourdain. 

The  Mufti. 

Non  tener  honta, 
Questa  star  I'ultinia  aflfronta. 

The  Turks. 
Non  tener  honta, 
Questa  star  I'ultima  affronta. 

The  Mufti  begins  a  third  invocation.  The 
Dervishes  support  him  beneath  the  arms  with 
respect;  after  which  the  Turks,  singing,  dan- 
cing and  twirling  round  the  Mufti,  retire  with 
him,  and  lead  away  Monsieur  Jourdain. 

END    OF    fourth    ACT. 


scbnbI]    bourgeois  gentilhomme      30s; 

I 

act  jFiftfj 


SCENE  FIRST 

MAD1.ME  JouKDAiN,  MoNSiEUR  JouRDAiN,  dressed  as 
a  Turk 

Madame  Jourdain. 
VjrREAT  Powers,  have  mercy!  What  is  all 
this  ?  What  a  guy !  Is  that  a  pillow  on  your 
head  1  Are  you  playing  a  masquerade  ?  Speak, 
tell  me  what  this  means.  Who  has  rigged  you 
out  like  that  1 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 
What  impertinence  to  speak  in  that  way  to  a 
Mamamouchi. 

Madame  Jourdain. 
A  what? 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 

Yes,  respect  must  be  shown  to  me;  I  have 
just  been  made  a  Mamamouchi. 

Madame  Jourdain. 
What  do  you  mean  with  your  Mamamouchi  ? 
90 


306  BOURGEOIS  GENTLLHOMME      [Act  V 

MONSIEUB   JOUKDAIN. 

Mamamoicchi,   I   tell  you.      I   am  Mama- 
mouchi. 

Madame  Jourdain. 

Is  it  an  animal  ? 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 

Mamamouchi,  which  means,  in  our  language, 
"  paladin." 

Madame  Jourdain. 

Baladin!  are  you  going  to  dance  a  ballet  at 
your  time  of  life  1 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 

What  ignorance!      I  said,  "paladin."     It  is 

a  dignity  to  which  I   have  been   raised  by  a 

ceremony. 

Madame  Jouedain. 

What  ceremony  t 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 
Mdhameta  per  Jordina. 

Madame  Jourdain. 
Good  heavens !  what  does  he  mean  f 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 
Jordina  means  "  Jourdain. " 


Scene  I]       BOURGEOIS  GENTILHOMME       307 

Madame  Joubdain. 
Well,  what  ?     Jourdain  what  ? 

Monsieur  Joubdain. 
Volerfar  un  paladina  de  Jordina. 

Madame  Joubdain. 
How? 

Monsieub  Joubdain. 
Dar  turbanta  eon  galera. 

Madame  Joubdain. 

What  does  that  say,  that  ? 

Monsieur  Joubdain. 
Per  deffender  Palestina. 

Madame  Joubdain. 
Heavens !  what  do  you  mean  ? 

Monsieub  Joubdain. 
Daray  dara,  bastonnara. 

Madame  Joubdain. 
Whose  jargon  is  that  1 

Monsieub  Joubdain. 
Non    tener    honta    questa    star    Vultima 
affronta. 


308  BOURGEOIS  GENTILHOMME      [Act  V 

Madame  Jourdain. 
For  Heaven's  sake,  tell  me  what  you  mean  ? 

Monsieur  Jourdain,  singing  and  dancing. 
Hoo,  la,  ba  !  ba,  la,  lioo  !  ba,  la,  ba !  ba,  la, 
da  !     (Falls  to  the  ground.) 

Madame  Jourdain. 
Good  God!  my  husband  is  mad! 

Monsieur  Jourdain,  rising  and  departing. 
Peace,  insolent  woman  !  show  respect  to  the 
Mamamouchi. 

Madame  Jourdain,  alone. 
He  certainly  has  lost  his  mind !  I  must  go 
after  him  and  prevent  his  leaving  the  house. 
(Seeing  Dorim^ne  and  Dora7ite  approaching) 
Ah!  ah!  here's  the  last  drop;  I  see  nothing 
but  trouble  everywhere. 


SCENE  SECOND 

DORANTE,   DORIMtNE 
DORANTE. 

Yes,  madame,  you  shall  see  the  most  amus- 
ing thing  that  ever  was  seen.  I  don't  believe 
that  in  all  the  world  it  would  be  possible  to 


Scbneii]    bourgeois  GENTILHOMME       309 

find  another  such  fool  as  this  man.  Besides, 
madame,  we  must  trj"^  to  serve  Cleonte's  love 
and  help  him  with  his  masquerade.  He  is  a 
very  gallant  young  man,  and  deserves  that  we 
take  an  interest  in  him. 

DORIMiNE. 

I  think  very  highly  of  him ;  he  is  worthy  of 
good  fortune, 

DORANTE. 

Moreover,  madame,  you  must  indeed  see  the 
ballet  I  have  prepared.  We  ought  not  to 
lose  it;  I  wish  to  know  if  my  idea  has  been 
successfully  carried  out. 

DORIMiNE. 

I  have  noticed  the  magnificent  preparations 
you  have  made,  Dorante;  and  these  are  things 
that  I  can  no  longer  permit.  Yes,  I  must  in 
future  prevent  your  profusion ;  and  to  stop  the 
expenses  which  I  see  you  incurring  for  me  I 
have  resolved  to  marry  you  at  once.  That  is 
the  only  way ;  for  such  extravagance  ends  with 
marriage,  as  you  know. 

Dorante. 

Ah !  madame,  is  it  possible  you  have  come  to 
so  sweet  a  resolution  ? 


310  BOURGEOIS  GENTILHOMME      [Act  V 

DoRiMiafE. 

It  is  solely  to  prevent  you  from  ruining  your- 
self; for  I  see  plainly  that  unless  I  do  this  you 
will  soon  be  left  without  a  sou. 

DORANTE. 

How  deeply  obliged  I  am,  madame,  for  the 
care  you  take  to  preserve  my  property.  It  is 
wholly  yours,  as  well  as  my  heart;  use  it  in 
any  way  you  please. 


SCENE  THIRD 

MOKSIEUB  JOUEDAIN,   DORIuiiNE,   DOBANTK 
DORANTE. 

Monsieur,  we  have  come,  madame  and  I,  to 
render  homage  to  your  new  dignity,  and  to 
rejoice  with  you  at  the  marriage  you  are  making 
between  your  daughter  and  the  son  of  the  Grand 
Turk. 

Monsieur  Jourdain,   after  bowing  in  the 
Turkish  manner. 

Monsieur,  I  wish  you  the  strength  of  ser- 
pents and  the  wisdom  of  lions. 


Scene  ni]    BOURGEOIS  GENTILHOMME      311 

DORIMiNK. 

I  am  very  glad  to  be  the  first,  monsieur,  to 
congratulate  you  on  the  high  degree  of  glory 
to  which  you  have  risen. 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 

Madame,  I  wish  that  your  rosebush  may 
bloom  all  the  year  round.  I  am  infinitely 
obliged  to  you  for  taking  part  in  the  honors 
that  have  come  to  me.  I  am  full  of  joy  at 
your  return  to  my  house,  and  I  offer  you  my 
very  humble  excuses  for  the  unreasonableness 
of  my  wife. 

DORIMBNE. 

Do  not  mention  it ;  I  can  readily  excuse  such 
feelings  in  Madame  Jourdain ;  yoiir  heart  must 
be  precious  to  her.  It  is  not  strange  that  the 
possession  of  a  man  like  you  should  inspire  some 
anxiety. 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 

The  possession  of  my  heart  is  yours  alone. 

DORANTE. 

You  see,  madame,  that  Monsieur  Jourdain  is 
not  one  of  those  whom  prosperity  blinds;  he 
knows  in  his  grandeur  how  to  recognize  his 
friends. 


312  BOUEGEOIS   GENTILHOMME      [Act  V 

DORIMilfE. 

*T  is  the  sign  of  a  truly  generous  soul. 

DOBANTE. 

Where  is  his  Turkish  Highness  1    We  desire, 
as  your  friends,  to  pay  him  our  respects. 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 
Here  he  comes :  I  have  sent  for  my  daughter, 
to  bestow  her  hand  upon  him. 


SCENE  FOURTH 

Monsieur  Jourdain,  DoRixiiiNE,  Dorante,  CLioNXE, 
dressed  as  a  Turk 

Dorante,  to  Cleonte. 
Monsieur,  we  have  come  to  offer  homage  to 
your  Highness  as  the  friends  of  Monsieur  Jour- 
dain, your  father-in-law,  and  to  assure  you  with 
all  respect  of  our  very  humble  services. 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 
Where  is  that  interpreter!  He  is  wanted  to 
tell  him  who  you  are  and  to  make  him  under- 
stand what  you  say.  You  will  see  that  he  will 
answer  you ;  he  speaks  Turk  admirably.  Hola, 
where  the  devil  has  he  gone?  (To  Cleonte) 
Strouf,  strif,  strof,  strof.     Monsieur,  here  is  a 


SCBNE  V]    BOURGEOIS  GENTILHOMME        313 

grande  signore,  grande  signore^  grande  signore; 
and  madame  is  a  granda  dama,  granda  dama. 
{Seeing  that  he  does  not  make  himself  under- 
stood) Ah!  {To  Gleonte,  pointing  to  Do- 
rante)  Monsieur,  he  Mamamouchi  frenchy ;  and 
Madame  Mamamouchia  frenchy.  I  can't  say 
it  more  clearly.  Oh !  good ;  here  comes  the 
interpreter. 


SCENE  FIFTH 

Monsieur  Jourdain,  DorimI:ne,  Dorante,  Cleonte, 

dressed  as  a  Turk,  Covielle,  disguised 

Monsieur  Jourdain,  to  Covielle. 
Where  have  you  been  1  We  can't  say  a  word 
without  you.  (Pointing  to  Clionte)  Just  tell 
him  that  monsieur  and  madame  here  are  persons 
of  high  quality,  who  have  come  to  pay  him  their 
respects  as  friends  of  mine,  and  to  assure  him  of 
their  services.  {To  Dorimene  and  Dorante) 
You  will  see  how  he  will  answer. 

Covielle. 
Alahala  crociam  acci  boram  alabamen. 

Cl:6onte. 
Catalequi  tubal  ourin  soter  amahuchan. 


314  BOURGEOIS  GENTILHOMME       [Act  V 

Monsieur  Jourdain,   to  Dorante  and  Dor- 
imene. 
There !  you  see. 

COVIELLE. 

He  says:   "May  the  rain  of  prosperity  ever 
water  the  garden  of  your  friends. " 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 
I  told  you  he  spoke  Turk. 

Dorante. 
Admirably ! 


SCENE  SIXTH 

LtJCILB,    CLiONTE,    MONSIEUK  JoURDAUT,    DOEIMiNE, 

Dorante,  Covielle 
Monsieur  Jourdain. 

Approach,  my  daughter ;  come  here  and  give 
your  hand  to  monsieur,  who  does  you  the  honor 
to  ask  you  in  marriage. 

LuciLB. 

Why,  father !  how  you  are  dressed !  Are  you 
acting  a  comedy  ? 


Scene  VI]     BOURGEOIS  GENTILHOMME     315 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 
No,  this  is  not  a  comedy ;  it  is  a  very  serious 
matter ;  and  the  greatest  honor  to  you  that  heart 
could  wish.     (^Pointing  to  Cleonte)  This  is  the 
husband  whom  I  give  to  you. 

LuciLB. 
To  me,  father. 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 

Yes,  to  you.     Come,    put  your  hand  in  his 
and  thank  Heaven  for  your  great  good  fortune. 

LUCILE. 

I  do  not  wish  to  marry. 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 
I  wish  it,  — I,  who  am  your  father. 

LUCILE. 

I  shall  not  do  so. 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 

Ha !   what  a  fuss !     Come,  I  say ;  here !  your 

hand. 

LuciLE. 

No,  father ;  I  told  you  no  power  could  induce 

me   to  take  any  other  husband  than   Cleonte; 

I   will    go   to    all    extremities    rather    than  — 

(Recognizing  Cleont^^  It  is  true  you  are  my 


316  BOURGEOIS  GENTILHOMME      [Act  V 

father ;   I  owe  you  entire  obedience,  —  and   it 
is  your  right  to  bestow  my  hand  as  you  will. 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 

Ah!  i  am  delighted  to  see  you  return  so 
quickly  to  your  duty.  It  gratifies  me  very 
much  to  have  an   obedient  daughter. 


SCENE  SEVENTH 
Madame  Joukdain,  CLtoNTE,  Monsieur  Jourdain, 

LUCILB,    DORANTE,   DORIltfilNE,    COVIELLE 

Madame  Jourdain. 
What  is  this  I  hear  ?     They  say  you  are  going 
to  give  your  daughter  in  marriage  to  a  carnival- 
actor. 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 

Will  you  be  silent,  meddling  woman  ?  You 
always  come  and  mix  your  folly  in  everything. 
Is  there  no  way  to  teach  you  to  be  reasonable  ? 

Madame  Jourdain. 

It  is  you  to  whom  there  's  no  way  to  teach 
common-sense ;  you  go  from  one  folly  to  another. 
What  is  your  present  scheme?  and  why  have 
you  collected  these  people  here? 


Scene  VII]     BOURGEOIS  GENTILHOMME     317 

Monsieur  Jourdatn. 
I  intend  to  marry  our  daughter  to  the  son 
of  the  Grand  Turk. 

Madame  Jourdain. 
The  son  of  the  Grand  Turk! 

Monsieur  Jourdain,  pointing  to  Covielle. 
Yes,  pay  him  your  respects  through  the  inter- 
preter whom  you  see  here. 

Madame  Jourdain. 
I  don't  want  any  interpreter.     I  can  tell  him 
to  his  nose,  myself,  what  I  have  to  say ;  and  that' 
is,  that  he  shall  not  have  my  daughter. 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 
Will  you  he  silent,  I  say  again.  ' 

DORANTE. 

Why,  Madame  Joi;rdain,  how  can  you  oppose 
an  honor  like  this?  Would  you  refuse  his 
Turkish  Highness  for  a  son-in-law? 

Madame  Jourdain. 
Heavens !  monsieur,  mind  your  own  business. 

DORIM^NE. 

But  it  is  a  great  glory  that  ought  not  to  be 
rejected. 


318  BOURGEOIS  GENTILHOMME      [Act  V 

Madame  Jourdain. 
Madame,   I  beg  you  not  to   trouble  yourself 
about  that  ■which  does  not  concern  you. 

Dorante. 

It  is  because  we  are  so   truly   your  friends 
that  we  take  an  interest  in  your  good  fortune. 

Madame  Jourdain. 
I  can  do  very  well  without  your  friendship. 

DOBANTE. 

But  here 's  your  daughter,   who  consents  to 
her  father's  wishes. 

Madame  Jourdain. 
My  daughter  consents  to  marry  a  Turk  1 

DORANTE. 

She  does. 

Madame  Joubdain. 
She  forgets  Cleonte  ? 

DORANTE. 

What  will  a  woman  not  do  to  make  herself  a 
great  lady. 

Madame  Jourdain. 

I  '11  strangle  her  with  my  own  hands  if  she 
can  do  so  base  a  thinR. 


Scene  VII]     BOURGEOIS  GENTILHOMME     319 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 

Here  's  fine  cackling !    I  tell  you  the  marriage 
will  take  place. 

Madame  Jourdain. 
And  I  tell  you  it  shall  not  take  place. 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 
What  a  fuss! 

LUCILE. 

Mother! 

Madame  Jourdain. 

You  are  a  hussy. 

Monsieur  Jourdain,  to  Madame  Jourdain. 

What !  do  you  quarrel  with  her  because  she 
obeys  me? 

Madame  Jourdain. 

Yes;  she  is   mine   quite  as  much  as  she  is 
yours. 

CoviELLE,  to  Madame  Jourdain. 

Madame ! 

Madame  Jourdain. 
What  do  you  want,  you  ? 

CoviELLE. 
One  word. 


320  BOUEGEOIS   GENTILHOMME      [Act  V 

Madame  Jourdain. 
I  don't  choose  to  hear  your  word. 

CoviELLE,  to  Monsieur  Jourdain. 
Monsieur,  if  she  will  only  listen  to  me  one 
moment   privately,    I   know   I    can   make   her 
consent  to  what  you  wish. 

Madame  Jourdain". 
I  shall  never  consent. 

CoviELLE. 
Just  listen  to  me  a  moment. 

Madame  Jourdain. 
No. 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 

Listen  to  him. 

Madame  Jourdain. 
I  don't  choose  to  listen  to  him. 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 
He  will  tell  you  — 

Madame  Jourdain. 
I  don't  want  him  to  tell  me  anything. 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 
Was  there  ever  such  female  obstinacy!     It 
can't  hurt  you  to  listen  to  him. 


Scene  Vn]    BOURGEOIS  GENTILHOMME     321 
COVIELLE. 

Only  listen;  you  can  do  as  you  like  after- 
wards. 

Madame  Jourdain. 

Well,  what  is  it,  then  ? 

CoviELLE,  low  to  Madame  Jourdain. 

We  have  been  making  signs  to  you  for  an 
hour,  madame.  Don't  you  see  that  all  this 
is  done  to  adapt  ourselves  to  your  husband's 
notions?  We  are  tricking  him  under  this  dis- 
guise.    Cleonte  is  the  son  of  the  Grand  Turk. 

Madame  Jourdain,  low  to  Covielle, 

What,  really? 

Covielle,  low  to  Madame  Jourdain. 
And  I,  Covielle,  am  the  interpreter. 

Madame  Jourdain,  low  to  Covielle. 
Tf  that 's  the  case  I  give  in. 

Covielle,  low  to  Madame  Jourdain. 
But  be  careful  not  to  betray  the  trick. 

Madame  Jourdain,  aloud. 

Well,  as  the  thing  is  done,  I  consent  to  the 

marriage. 

21 


322  BOUEGEOIS  GENTILHOMME      [Act  V 

Monsieur  Jourdaix. 

Ah!  now,  here 's  everybody  reasonable.  (7b 
Madame  Jourdain)  You  would  n't  listen  to 
him,  but  I  knew  very  well  that  he  would 
explain  to  you  about  the  son  of  the  Grand 
Turk. 

Madame  Jourdain. 

He  has  explained  it  all  properly,  and  I  am 
satisfied,  Now  we  had  better  send  at  once 
for  a  notary. 

DOEANTE. 

Well  said.  And  in  order,  Madame  Jourdain, 
that  you  may  have  your  mind  altogether  at  rest, 
and  lose  from  this  moment  the  jealousy  you 
have  felt  about  your  husband,  Madame  la  mar- 
quise and  I  will  avail  ourselves  of  the  services 
of  the  same  notary  to  arrange  our  marriage. 

Madame  Jourdain. 

I  consent  to  that,  too. 

Monsieur  Jourdain,  Iovj  to  Dorante. 
That  is  only  to  pacify  my  wife,  of  course. 

Dorante,  low  to  Monsieur  Jourdain. 
It  is  well  to  amuse  her  with  the  idea. 


Scene  VII]    BOURGEOIS   GENTILHOMME     323 

Monsieur  Jourdaix,  low. 
Good!    good!      (Aloud)    Yes,    send  for   the 
notary. 

DORANTE. 

And  while  we  are  waiting  for  him  let  us  see 
our  ballet  and  offer  it  as  an  entertainment  to 
his  Turkish  Highness. 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 

An  excellent  idea.  Come,  let  us  take  our 
places. 

Madame  Jourdain. 

And  Nicole  1 

Monsieur  Jourdain. 

I  give  her  to  the  interpreter  —  (low)  and  my 
wife  to  any  one  who  wants  her. 

COVIELLE. 

Monsieur,  I  thank  you.  (Aside)  May  I  be 
shot  if  he  is  not  the  craziest  of  mortals. 

BALLET. 

The  comedy  ends  with  the  little  ballet  which 
had  been  prepared,  in  which  musicians  of  the 
three  countries,  Italy,  France,  and  Spain,  sing 
and  dance  in   their  native  style  and  manner. 


324         BOURGEOIS  GENTILHOMME        [Act  V 

The  whole  concludes  by  the  mingling  of  the 
three  nations,  and  the  applause,  in  dance  and 
song,  of  all  present,  assistants  and  spectators, 
who  sing:  — 

What  visions  charm  us,  and  what  pleasures  greet; 
The  gods,  the  gods  themselves  have  nought  so  sweet ! 


END  OF   LE   BOCBGEOIS  GENTILHOMME. 


/H  C  oo 


from  which  it  was  borrowed. 


SRLIr- 
QL 


.MN20  1994 


'•Ml. 


-s-^. 


